Before her eyes, the bull turned his flank and fled to the arena's corner. Erebus gave chase and corralled the beast.
Anne spotted blood on Pedro's white shirt and moved to run to him when her arm was yanked behind her.
Ulrich slapped her hard.
Anne's head jerked, and she collapsed onto the sand. Fighting the starbursts behind her eyelids, she hugged herself. A coppery taste invaded her mouth, and she lifted her chin, eying Ulrich with dread and defiance.
"Treacherous bitch."
Chapter 46
Pedrosplayedhishandsover his knees to catch his breath. Erebus kept the bull blocked, neutralizing the threat. Pedro lifted his gaze to the bleacher—empty. The sound of palm hitting flesh pierced Pedro's chest harder than the bull's horns. The gate swung inward, and he glimpsed Anne's hair flailing as Ulrich felled her.
Hatred as fathomless as Dom Pedro must have felt for Inês’s executioners coursed through his veins, and Pedro reached the gate in two strides. When it swung open again, he blocked its path.
Ulrich startled. Fear flashed in his black eyes.
Pedro caught him by the lapel and fisted his hand. He punched Ulrich's face with all the pent-up rage from the hours he had spent wondering what Ulrich had done to Anne. The crack of the bastard's bones under his knuckles was not enough, and he pummeled him again.
"Is this any way to thank me? Before our affair at the Zambezi, you believed yourself noble, didn't you? A hero," Ulrich sneered, twisting the words. "I freed you from morality. You can lie to yourself, but you are just like me."
"You are wrong." Pedro crushed his fist against Ulrich's cheekbone.
Ulrich tumbled onto the sand and crawled backward like a spider. The fence separating the paddock from the arena contained his retreat. His face had turned ashen, and he lifted his palms. "Go ahead. Smash my skull with your bare fists. Show the girl your evil side."
The hairs on his nape lifting, Pedro stilled, his gaze darting from Ulrich's bloodied teeth to Anne. She hunched in a ball, hugging her knees, terror clear in her gaze.
"That tribe..." Ulrich clicked his tongue. "They were troublesome, you know. The children whined too much, and the women cried pitifully when I had to dump the loudest ones topside." Ulrich's singsong voice penetrated Pedro's skull. “All your fault.”
Pedro covered his ears.
"No, Pedro, don't listen to him." Anne's plead became distorted, as if underwater.
Images from Mozambique bombarded him—scattered wooden toys over the trail, bloody garments, scorched tents, the flight of carrion, screeching and screeching. Pulse hammering against his ears, Pedro staggered back a step as vertigo robbed his balance, and he took short gulps of breath.
Ulrich cannon balled at Pedro's chest. With a flick of his wrist, he flung sand at Pedro's face and, whirling out of reach, unsheathed a pistol. Before Pedro could react, he grabbed Anne's hair and forced her to stand.
Pedro didn't feel the grain abrading his eyeballs, and his legs became useless as Ulrich pointed the pistol at Anne's head. She trembled. Her lips were bleeding, leaving a crimson trail on her opalescent skin.
Ulrich's face distorted into an expression of malice Pedro had not encountered in all his years serving in blood-soaked battles. Ulrich lifted the barrel from her temple and, still holding her hair in his grasp, pointed the gun at Pedro's chest.
An explosion brought a breath of hope to their impossible situation, but it was futile. The royal guard couldn't change the balance of power. Ulrich held the cards. Their position would not allow Cris a clear shot either, as the hill stood behind the bleacher's platform.
Ulrich traced Anne's slim brows with the obscene barrel of his gun. "Since you ruined my bullfight, I thought of a little game to brighten our afternoon. None of you will leave this arena alive, but I'm not without mercy. The Count of Almoster will pick his lover's fate."
Ulrich stared into Pedro's eyes. "You can watch Miss Maxwell die or choose to go first. Think about it carefully. Watching a loved one's death is not easy, but if I end you first, you won't know what I will do to her after I put a bullet into your heart."
Blood congealed in Pedro's veins, his arms going slack by his side. Thunder rumbled, rash and ominous. Lightning flashed white over the sand, and the sky turned black. Pedro's mind rebelled against Ulrich's game. He would not see her die, and he would not leave her in Ulrich's cruel hands. His heart exploded out of control. He was a youth again, facing an impossible choice. And Anne… she was his very life. His light.
Rain lashed the arena, drops indenting the sand, coursing through their clothes, plastering Anne's hair, washing away the blood on her lips.
Pedro held Anne's gaze. Too much had been left unsaid. He had never told her that he loved her. And now…
He should never have allowed evil to touch her meadow of light.
She shook her head as if she knew the direction of his thoughts and then gifted him with her wobbly smile. While a volcano raged inside his chest, she was ethereal, translucent, untouched by evil. She closed her eyes, and a tear shimmered down her cheek.
When she opened her eyelids, her chest expanded, and a new strength radiated from her gaze. She wrenched herself from Ulrich's grasp and produced a blade from the folds of her dress, touching it to her own neck. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sharp steel. A knife. Her skin there, so delicate, would require only a nudge, and then her light would be forever extinguished.
