Trickster

1. Lincoln

1

Lincoln

When it comes to fighting, everything’s more fun with a battle lion.

Case in point: I now stand in the Royal Gymnasium, ready to teach my nobles the latest in combat. Around me, there looms a tall and rectangular space made from gleaming wood. Gilded balconies line the walls. Leather mats cover the floors. And the best part? A supernatural white lion named Rufus towers just a few yards away. Golden beads gleam in his braided mane; modified armor arches over his spine.

A vision of feline power.

Plus Rufus sports quite the attitude. That’s a decided bonus.

“Give up, demon biter,” Rufus bellows.

See what I mean? Fun.

By saying demon biter, Rufus refers to my being thrax. My people are part human, part angel, and totally committed to fighting demons on the Earth’s surface. Meanwhile our homeland of Antrum lies miles underground where we enjoy a secure and medieval lifestyle. As High Prince, I give regular combat lessons to nobility. Today’s session is called Fighting the Four Legged. For the occasion, I wear human-style body armor instead of my regular tunic, chain mail, and high boots.

Rufus bares his teeth. “I shall shred you with ease,” he growls. To emphasize the point, Rufus drags his claws over the practice mat, tearing open fissures of white fluff.

Low gasps echo in from the gym’s balconies, all of which overflow with my top nobles. The royal court stares at Rufus, their eyes wide and mouths open. I could explain that Rufus and I are friends, but my nobles won’t believe it.

Two reasons why.

One. The court thinks Rufus is a demon. He’s not. Rufus’ family originally came from an alternate reality called the Primeval. It’s a place where animals speak, but aren’t necessarily good or evil.

Two. Rufus and I always talk trash before a fight. This way, the nobles pay closer attention. The idea came to me from a wrestling program I viewed while on demon patrol. Ah, television. Humans are rather creative with technology, considering how they can’t wield magic.

I inspect the gym’s many balconies, my gaze locking onto one with an eagle pennant. Thrax are divided into different clans—what we call houses. The eagle banner signifies my own house, Rixa. I scan the balcony’s front row, skimming past the familiar forms of my mother, Octavia, and father, Connor. My chest warms with affection.

There she is.

My fiancée, Myla Lewis.

The rest of the world fades into a blur of brocade gowns, leather jerkins, and formal manners. Myla shines out as a figure of life and light. Energy vibrates in her clear blue eyes, long auburn hair, and amber skin. Today she wears the fitted robes that mark her as the Great Scala, the only being who can move souls to Heaven or Hell. The dress is as unique as the woman. All in all, I detect only one imperfection; Myla’s not staring at me.

I’m man enough to admit the truth. I like my fiancée’s attention.

And I know exactly how to get it.

Turning, I focus on Rufus once more. “Less talking,” I say with a wink. “More fighting.”

Rufus bares his teeth. “If you insist.”

“That I do.” I whistle a series of low notes—that’s our signal.

Then I lunge for Rufus’ throat.