Page 37 of Daddy’s Hunted Bride

Either way, it’s what people in the movies always seem to do when they’re trying to escape someone. Not that it always works but running for the rest of my life wasn’t an option either. This feels like I might actually have a chance.

I let myself grab hold of that rationalization with everything I have as I float down the river. If nothing else, this little break is giving me the time I need to recover so that if I do need to run again, I’ll have restored some of my reserves.

But I can’t let my guard down. That’s how people get got in horror movies. So even while I float, I remain vigilant, my head on a swivel as I scan the woods around me, looking and listening for any hint of danger.

Maybe he gave up. Maybe he decided to leave me out here to die. Maybe he⁠—

A scream claws at my throat as something wraps around my ankle, dragging me beneath the water. I manage to close my mouth and take a breath half a second before I’m pulled under. Panic and instinct work together, turning me into a flailing mass of limbs.

My foot connects with something, and the thing around my ankle releases. Pushing up toward the surface, I break free with a gasp, arms and legs splashing as I make my frantic escape toward the shore.

I glance back just long enough to see a familiar head pop up above the water. But unlike my own kicking and flailing escape, Dane is all lethal elegance as he rises up, water cascading off him with every step toward me.

Looking exactly like the bad guy in a slasher film, he stalks toward me, and I scramble up the too-steep embankment, desperation driving the exhaustion from my limbs.

“You can do better than that, little fox.” Again his voice is taunting, almost playful as he follows me back into the depths of the woods.

Too slow. I’m moving as fast as I can, but I already know it’s not enough to save me. Not with him so close.

A sob bursts out of me a moment before an arm encircles my waist, hoisting me into the air. Still, I kick and I punch and I fight with everything I have in me as he carries me to my fate.

If this is how I die, I refuse to go quietly.

“Let me go, you bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!” Okay, I really need to think of some more creative phrases.

“That’s two minutes with the soap when we get home, little girl.”

The growled warning somehow fills me with both relief and dread. Relief, because if he’s talking about taking me back to his home, then surely he doesn’t mean to kill me.

Dread, because I cannot go back to living as his Little girl. I can’t.

We pause beside a tree, and to my shock he sets me on my feet. Drawing on every ounce of courage I have, I force myself to look up, to meet his gaze. And despite the stern set of his mouth, I find the deep brown of his eyes dancing with excitement.

“You gave me a run for my money, little fox.”

I could almost swear there’s a note of pride in his voice, and I hate that my body instantly responds to it. “Not enough of one, clearly.”

“Ah, well.” Grinning now, he lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug. “There will be other chases.”

“Damn straight. And next time, you won’t catch me.”

Placing his hand between my shoulder blades, he forces me forward, pressing my torso against the tree in front of me. “We’ll see about that. For now, you’ve earned yourself a hell of a switching, little girl. Plus another minute with the soap when we get home.”

Fuck. I’ve never been switched, but I’ve read enough books to know it’s an experience I won’t enjoy in the least.

But I refuse to beg. Refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me whine and cry for mercy. Instead, I remain still and silent as he moves me into position. My arms are pulled around the trunk of the tree, which is the perfect size for my hands to touch on the opposite side. Once I’m in position, the thick leather of what I assume is his belt wraps around my wrists, anchoring me in place.

“Stay right there while Daddy finds some switches.”

“Gee, what a hard job considering we’re in the fucking woods.”

His chuckle is like a physical touch, dancing slimy fingers up my spine. “Someday soon, I’ll teach you to cut your own and you’ll realize how difficult it is. Oh, and that’s four minutes with the soap when we get back.”

Dammit. I really need to learn to watch my language around him.

The sound of his footsteps echoes around me, and I realize after a few minutes of him stomping around that he’s deliberately making too much noise. Far more than he made while hunting me, that’s for sure. I find the racket oddly comforting. At least I know he’s nearby and hasn’t left me tied to this tree with no hope of escape.

Too soon, however, he returns. My head is turned, with my left cheek pressed against the bark of the tree, and he positions himself on the side where I can’t see him. I can hear him, feel him, even smell him, but being unable to physically lay eyes on him has my heart pounding too hard and too fast all over again. He reaches for me, and I squeeze my eyes shut against whatever is about to happen.