“That’s my demon side. All quasis have a power with one of the seven deadly sins. Mine’s wrath.”

“Have you any battle training?”

“Nope. I started fighting death matches in the Arena when I was twelve. I sorta learned on my feet.”

A low moan sounds from the stall behind Lincoln.

I take a step forward. “What’s in there?”

“The Shadow Dragon. He was too sick to haul back to the Menagerie.” Lincoln opens the white jar, sniffs the contents, and winces. “This may smell bad, little man, but it’ll help.” He crouches down.

I step closer. The dragon’s black scales look chalky white. His fiery red eyes are now dimmed. My tail strokes along his back, his slowing heartbeat thrums through me like it was my own. The connection between us can mean only one thing. “This isn’t a Shadow Dragon. He’s Furor.” Although they can take the form of a dragon, Furor are part human too. It’s against inter-realm law to fight them in the Arena, let alone a tournament like this one.

Lincoln scoops more ointment onto his fingers, rubs it into the beast’s flank. “How do you know? It’s never changed into human form.”

I turn to him and arch my brows. “One guess.” My tail waves at him over my shoulder.

He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” He leans back onto his heels. “Why do you think he hasn’t changed form?”

“I think he’s too frightened.” I pick up the back leg, look at the talons. “His first talons haven’t come in yet. He can’t be five years old.” The creature in the stall shoots me a sleepy look. “Poor little thing.”

“I’ll send a message to the Furor ambassador tonight.” He pats the dragon’s back with long strokes. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes. By now, a Shadow Dragon would have tried to spear us with its tail. That’s how they consume your soul.” I smile. “Or try to.”

He grins back. My knees go a bit wobbly. “You know a lot about demons.”

“Arena fighters like me see all the matches they want. Last month, I saw a horde of Cellula.”

“Really? I haven’t seen that breed in years.” He closes the ointment jar and sets it aside. “So that’s how you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“How to save Earl of Acca from the Limus. He’s a pompous blowhard, but he is one of our most important Earls.” He looks at me intently. His wheat-brown and slate-blue eyes shimmer. “Thanks again for saving his life.”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. It feels weird to do anything but yell at this guy. “You’re, uh, welcome.” I turn my attention to the wounded creature. “Poor little guy.”