Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Read online

  Trickster

  Book Three of the Angelbound Lincoln Series

  Christina Bauer

  Contents

  Dedication

  Author Preface

  TRICKSTER

  EPILOGUE

  Also By Christina Bauer

  Appendix

  Afterword

  Copyright

  Monster House Books

  Brighton, MA 02135

  ISBN 9781946677136

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2020 by Monster House Books LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  For All Those Who Kick Ass, Take Names

  and Read Books

  Author Preface

  Dear Readers,

  I am so psyched for TRICKSTER, I can't even tell you! Here are some key points to consider before you get started.

  Point One. There’s A Dual Point of View

  Myla and Lincoln's voices are back in this novel!!! The core conflict just wouldn’t work unless readers got to know both their inner thoughts. Plus, it’s fun to write.

  That said, the story is very much centered in Lincoln's world and his character arc, so get ready for a deeper view into the inner workings of our favorite Mister the Prince.

  Point Two. This Takes Place After SCALA

  Please note that this book also takes place after the events of SCALA (Angelbound Origins Book #2). There are no spoilers here if you read out of order. I also wrote it so you can enjoy it as a stand alone.

  Point Three. What Is My Problem?

  At this point you may wonder: why do I write things out of sequence? Wasn’t SCALA published a while ago?

  Here’s my honest answer: I have no idea.

  This is just how my gift works. I know it’s different from everyone else, and sometimes Business-Me wants to take Author-Me out and kick my own ass, if that makes sense. But then I drink coffee and get back to writing. Self-distraction is a very useful skill.

  Point Four. Beholder Bonus

  If you read my Beholder series, you’ll recognize some backstory on the characters of Mlinzi and Walinzi. Again, not necessary to have completed that series to enjoy this one; it’s more of an easter egg for power readers.

  Enough of my preamble, let’s get to the Angelbound fun. I hope you enjoy TRICKSTER!

  CB

  TRICKSTER

  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.

  2

  Myla

  I’ve gotten myself into some awkward situations, but this one? It’s the pits. Everything started when I spoke some fateful words to my fiancée:

  Sure, I’ll visit your palace in Antrum.

  Yeah, I’d love to watch you teach battle stuff.

  What a disaster.

  As of this moment, I sit on a gilded balcony with the nobles of Rixa. Surrounding me are sweaty guys in tunics and women whose puffy gowns get caught on everything. I’m crammed by the front edge with Lincoln’s mother, who looks petite and lethal in her dark velvet dress. Beside her sits Lincoln’s father, who’s the definition of a medieval king with his barrel chest, black tunic, and chin-length white hair.

  All that remains is watching the fight. Everything is good, yes?

  That’s a big no.

  Here’s the issue. I’m a mix of angel, demon, and human. The good news is, that mix makes me a supernatural dynamo called the Great Scala. The tricky bit is how my demonic side comes with two deadly sins, lust and wrath. Of the pair, my control over lust is zilch. Plus when I get all lusty, my eyes blaze with red light, leaving my carnal urges pretty obvious. And what revs me up more than anything?

  Ogling my fiancée as he jumps around in his body armor.

  See the issue here?

  I’m stuck in a balcony with no easy way to reach the exit… all while my man hangs one story below me in his second skin of rahr. Any second now, Lincoln will leap about and look hella hot.

  Talk about your danger zones.

  Even worse, all the major nobles from other thrax houses sit nearby, ready to watch the Red-Eyed Demon Fiancée Show. Not that I care a ton about them. It’s the parental issue that really makes my skin crawl.

  Some things your future in-laws simply don’t need to know.

  Down on the gym floor, Lincoln chats up Rufus
, the battle lion for this class. It takes a feat of personal will, but I stare at the ceiling.

  This is me. Not looking at Lincoln.

  Octavia nudges my elbow. “Myla?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Lady Bentford asked you a question.”

  “Sure.” Considering how that lady’s right behind me, I welcome the chance to turn away from the Spectacle Du Man Candy. Lady Bentford is a classic House of Rixa type, namely the elderly maven. I’m talking lots of wrinkles and years of poor dental work. It’s a kind face, but I don’t let it fool me. Old Rixa ladies are mean as snakes if you misstep one toe on their beloved traditions. Girls like me were created to bug the crap out of them.

  Lady Bentford bows. “Greetings, oh fiancée of the High Prince Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus.”

  “You can call me Myla.” As in, I have my own name.

  Lady Bentford’s mouth contracts so much, it disappears into her face. “I gave the correct opening for initiating contact with the High Prince’s fiancée. Now you must provide your formal greeting in return. It is the Rixa Way.”

  Whoa. I don’t know any of that stuff.

  So I make shit up. Clearly Lady Bentford wants some formal blah blah blah. How hard can it be?

  “Okay.” I close my eyes. “I greet thee, I greet thee, I greet thee. Huzzah. Woot woot.” I don’t wait for a comment before launching into my next question. “What can I do for you?”

  Beside me, Octavia stiffens. The reason? Octavia’s been taking the nasty old lady factor pretty hard these days. Lincoln’s mother always knew that Aldred, the evil Earl of Acca, would loathe me. If anything, the earl’s hatred was a relationship bonus. But now? Octavia’s old geezer girlfriends have been shooting her the stink eye 24-7, simply because I suck at formal manners and the infamous Rixa Way.

  Lincoln’s Mom is going twitchy.

  And I get that. Friends can affect you. There’s no way I’m changing how I act, but I do get it.

  Lady Bentford offers me a goblet. “Would you like some saffronia?”

  There’s a hidden trap in this question, but I don’t know what it might be. That said, who cares? I take the cup and smile. “Thank you.”

  Lady Bentford continues to look not-pleased. “It’s customary to sip from your goblet the moment it touches your hands. My family brews this particular vintage. I wish to ensure it is pleasing.”

  “Oh.” I down a mouthful. My eyes almost bug out of my head. Whoa. Tastes like warm pee. My cheeks bulge out while my tongue tries escaping down my throat.

  “You don’t like it.” All the color drains from Lady Bentford’s face.

  I force myself to swallow. Gah, that was gross.

  “No,” I totally lie. “That was super yummy.”

  Lady Bentford isn’t buying it. Not that I blame her. What a crap performance on my part.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I say quickly. “I’ll watch my fiancée now. Buh-bye.” Turning around, I hope Lady Bentford gets the hint.

  Beside me, Octavia sips her own goblet of yellow snow juice. “You must learn to enjoy saffronia.”

  “I’ll add it to the list.” I don’t volunteer how said list happens to be super-long and urine bevs sit at the tippy bottom.

  “Saffronia is the favorite drink of Rixa,” explains Octavia. “The fortunes of Lady Bentford’s family are built upon its popularity.”

  “Good for her.”

  Octavia sips her own drink without gagging. Total achievement. “May I give you some advice?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  A small smile curls Octavia’s mouth. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then shoot.”

  “The Rixa Way is an important set of manners and traditions. It may seem silly to you, but it’s crucial for Antrum.”

  Sure it is. “I thought you guys were all about fighting demons.”

  “We are. And the Rixa Way supports everything. Manners. Traditions. Formalities. It all weaves together into the greater fabric of thrax society.”

  “Huh.” That’s really all I have to say.

  “You’re nineteen; Lincoln is twenty. In Antrum, that’s rather old to get married. The Rixa Way is expected of anyone so up in years. ”

  “Hey, I’m the poster girl for manners right now.”

  In reply, Octavia merely raises her brows. It’s a small move that means, you are so full of it.

  “Come on,” I declare. “Who just DRANK WARM PEE and didn’t spit it out?”

  Okay, I might have used my outdoor voice just then. The entire Rixa balcony goes unnervingly silent.

  Oops.

  From the gym floor below, a great roar sounds. That would be Lincoln’s combat lessons. Moving as one, all the nobles focus on the fight instead of me.

  Yay.

  For my part, I stare down at my pee drink and not at my guy. As long as I keep inhaling through my mouth, it’s not a problem.

  Another roar sounds. The battle must be getting goooooood.

  Not looking. Not looking.

  My tail perks up from its resting spot by my ankle. This is a total bonus of being part demon, by the way. I have a long tail that’s covered in dragonscales. Major badassery. Right now, that tail arcs over my shoulder. The arrowhead-shaped end points toward the fight.

  I get the hint. My tail wants me to watch Lincoln.

  Still not happening.

  A series of oohs and ahhs sound from crowd. Connor taps my shoulder. “Did you see that?” he asks. “Such an amazing strike.”

  Not looking. Not looking. Not looking.

  Screw it. I’m looking.

  The moment my gaze locks on Lincoln, my inner lust demon wakes up with a big HELL to the O. Blood heats in my veins. Lincoln talks while fighting—it’s all stuff about battling lions or whatever—yet his words fade into the background. All I catch are a rhythmic set of movements.

  Lunge… swipe… back muscles ripple.

  Jump… bend… excessive butt flexing.

  Punch… twist… ripped arms bulging.

  Rufus bites Lincoln’s shoulder. The crowd gasps. I’m not worried, though. Rufus’ jawline isn’t even taut. Zero brawn lies behind that bite.

  A moment later, Lincoln breaks free from Rufus. Then it happens—the Mona Lisa of battle moves. My breath hitches as Lincoln somersaults over the lion’s back. The flip even includes some choice straight-leg slicing action.

  Oh, my.

  It’s what my best friend, Cissy, and I call a BAEJS.

  Body Armor Enhanced Junk Show.

  My guy is one hundred percent beautiful; that’s all I’m saying. And it’s good to have a bestie that I can share this stuff with. Cissy’s boyfriend, Zeke, serves in Purgatory’s new guard, so she gets the whole body armor scene.

  Heat rises behind my eyes. I fight it, hard.

  No demon irises, Myla.

  That’s when Lincoln pauses. Our gazes lock. Desire blazes in his mismatched eyes. Like all thrax, he has one brown iris and one blue. Totally hypnotic.

  Is the battle over? Do I really care?

  Enough is enough. I’m having a lusty moment with my fiancée, end of story. My irises flare red as Lincoln and I continue our stare-a-thon. The crowd may notice or not. I’m no longer paying attention.

  Mmmmm-mmm.

  3

  Lincoln

  It took a little doing, but I got what I wanted. Myla looks straight at me, her irises flaring with crimson light. The demon spark. Our connection lasts a second and forever, all at once.

  Slam!

  A heavy wooden door thuds against the gymnasium wall. I frown. There are two ways on and off the gym floor. The first is the main entrance; the second leads to the locker room. Either way, no one should enter at this time, let alone make a ton of racket while doing so.

  As disappointing as it is, I break my gaze with Myla. Turning, I find none other than Aldred standing framed by the gym’s threshold. The earl is a hefty fellow in a yellow tunic decorated with Acca’s emblem, a closed fist. A thi
n comb-over of red hair stretches over his skull. Aldred marches across the gym floor, his belly shaking with each step.

  Which brings me to a turning point.

  There are a number of options here. I could order Aldred to leave the gym. Or I might ask him why he’s interrupting my lesson. Finally, I could simply punch him in the throat. Over the years, I’ve learned that none of these work where Aldred is concerned. Best to hang back until the earl reveals his true plans. Then I act accordingly.

  Thus for now, I must wait.

  My Master of Arms, Nat, follows behind Aldred. Essentially, a Master of Arms acts as personal trainer for me and my top guards. Nat looks the role as well, considering how he’s middle-aged with graying hair and a compact body. And the way Nat’s mouth pulls tight? My Master at Arms is fuming about something Aldred-related.

  This will be interesting.

  All the nobles turn quiet. No one wants to miss a thing.

  Aldred kneels beside Rufus. With a dramatic swoop of his arm, the earl runs his hand over the lion’s armor. “Ha! I thought so. This clasp is loose.” Aldred turns to the crowd. “Battle lions are under the exclusive mandate of the House of Acca. This error brings unspeakable shame upon me!”

  Time was, Acca used to rule Antrum. Then Rixa kicked them off the throne. To have a bloodless transition of power, Rixa allowed Acca to keep certain battle rights. Bottom line? My family can’t force Acca into war or dictate anything related to combat. Battle lions fall under Acca’s—and therefore Aldred’s—absolute control. I suspected the earl might use today’s event in order to grab attention for himself and his house. I took the risk because, well, Rufus is simply that cool.