Lords of Betrayal (The ‘F’ Word #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

I n the center of a hot, dusty arena under a blazing midday sun, I’m panting hard. Crouched low. My red dress and cape are torn and they drag around me.

Prowling the high circular wall around the perimeter are three snorting bulls.

A huge crowd of people all lean forward, craning their necks, holding a tense, heavy silence. They lick their lips. Eager and impatient.

Everybody knows what’s coming, just as well as I do, and they want it. Now.

The biggest of the bulls lowers his head slowly as he scrapes his hoof in the dust and fixes my eyes with his.

I know him.

And he knows me. We have both known this scene would come.

All three bulls snort and grunt as they space themselves out, three points of an equal triangle. My head whips around and I’m looking for a way out. The spaces between them are huge, but so are they. And there’s no break in the wall. Nowhere to go.

I have nothing, no weapon, nothing I can use to defend myself. Nothing but the cloak and the dress.