Page 23 of Chased

She tried to back up, but her feet felt stuck to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Madison Fontaine, from Shady Valley, Colorado. I can show you my driver’s license.”

“Maybe. But you’re no fox shifter.”

Her stomach froze into an icy ball. “Of course I am. Why would you even say that?”

She couldn’t let anyone know that she’d lied. Even if Sanchez wanted to protect her, he couldn’t if Gunnar Jorgenson said she had to go. He was the one in charge of this place—him and Michelangela Connors.

Sanchez stepped closer, until there were only a few inches between them. He was huge and gorgeous and sexy as fuck, and smelled scary and amazing all at the same time.

Madison felt a bunny freeze coming on.

His hands closed around her shoulders, and slid down to her upper arms. Goosebumps rippled over her skin.

He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring, and leaned in until his face was a fraction of an inch from her neck. He breathed in deeply.

Holy shit. Was he scenting her?

When he raised his head, his eyes had turned to molten gold. “Like I said, not a fox shifter.”

Deny everything. That was Vixen, of course.

“I’m half fox shifter,” she told him. Maybe that would satisfy him.

His eyes were still golden, and it felt like his fingers were burning through her shirt—his shirt—to her bare skin.

“What’s the other half?”

“Killer moose. You’re lucky I don’t manifest that half.”

That got a faint half-grin, but he didn’t let her go. His hands drifted up her arms, his thumbs moving to trace her collarbones. “So if I asked you to shift right now, that’s what you’d be? A fox?”

She whispered desperately, “Please just leave it alone.”

But he didn’t. He was a Hound, after all. According to him, he never gave up. “Who you running from? Abusive husband? Crazy ex? Organized crime kingpin?”

Her head spinning from his nearness, she seized gratefully on the most ridiculous possibility. “Right,” she said. “As if an ordinary person like me is going to be running from an organized crime kingpin.”

His huff of laughter caressed the skin of her cheek. “Ask Breanna about that sometime.”

Now he was messing with her. “No way is Breanna on the run from an organized crime kingpin.”

“Not anymore.” His eyes were on her lips now. She felt herself flush. “We took down his operation. He was what they call ‘an unfortunate casualty’.”

She stared at him. He looked serious. Damn.

He went on, “If you’re running from something, Mikey and Gunn should know. In case trouble follows you here.”

“Don’t say anything. Please.”

He gazed at her for a moment, and she wished to hell she knew what he was thinking. Then he said, “Breanna was scared too, when she first came. And… me and the boys didn’t make it easy for her.”

She had the feeling maybe that was the answer to the very first question she’d asked. About why he was helping her. At least, part of the answer.

“And you’re making it easier for me?” Like maybe he owed it to Breanna, somehow?

He gave a little uncomfortable shrug and stepped back, no longer meeting her eyes. “The thing Breanna did was, she tried to make friends. Cookies. TV parties. Stupid community-building shit.”

“So you’re saying I should try to make friends with people? Even if I’m scared of them?”