Willing to cheat

I tilted my head to one side and said, “I assume you never saw The Dark Knight.”
That gave him pause. He tilted his head and said, “What?”
I lowered my head and let the growl billow up out of my chest. “You don’t want to destroy one of them. You want both. You want me to run after one instead of doing what needs to be done.”
“And what is that?” My Shadow asked, sneering.
I roared, breath and energy filling me, and shot forward and up the stairs toward him, the darkness of the hallway suddenly full of azure starlight.
My Shadow was not the sort to drop his guard, but he genuinely hadn’t expected the fight to begin when it did. Which is not exactly the most honest way to approach a conflict. But, then, I was raised by a wizard. When it comes to fighting, I tend to cheat wherever possible.
I struck My Shadow’s shoulder with my own. He was too quick to be overborne, but he slammed into the concrete wall behind him, sending a web of fine cracks out from the point of impact. The blow stunned him for part of a second, and I sank my fangs into the ruff of his mane. He twisted, and I didn’t get hold of his throat—just fur and loose skin. But that was enough to let me clamp down and fling him into the door leading outside.


Brief Cases, Zoo Day, Page 430