Chapter 18

One week before the event, Miguel set up The Crimson Goat's new menu beside the restaurant's front door. Now sporting pictures to help those who weren't familiar with human food, the menu proudly advertised modified recipes that highlighted the blood and meat above all else, with a few spicy additions that were sure to tempt even the pickiest chupacabra.

"Do you guys need any help with the mural?" Miguel asked.

"We've got it covered," Mr. Kaminski said. He and Ralph were painting over what remained of the graffiti with a mixture of reds, browns, and dark oranges to mimic a desert sunset. It wasn't nearly as complex as the artwork other restaurants boasted, but it would suffice until they could afford to hire some artistically talented help.

"The patio's all set, too." Alejandro set down the last of the outdoor pillows he'd brought. Miguel had long since lost count of the trunkfuls he'd unloaded, piling them into makeshift nests under the massive umbrellas Mr. Kaminski had set out to make their outdoor seating more hospitable while the sun was still out.

The staff had gone all out to prepare for the event. Even Yolanda had put her surprisingly impressive graphic design skills to good use and designed fliers for them to distribute. "I swear if your claws ruin these, you're paying for all the ink I used," she said as she shoved a stack of them into Miguel's hands.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Miguel twitched his lips into a smile. The expression felt less foreign than it used to, but he still worried his fangs might show too much. "You all know where you're heading?"

Ralph snorted. "This isn't the first time I've visited Creosote Pack, and it won't be the last. One of those fuckers still owes me twenty bucks." Noticing Miguel's completely flabbergasted expression, he explained, "Hooked him up with all my meat rations when he got arrested for spooking an old lady or some shit. He didn't like to talk about it."

"I'll make sure he behaves himself," Mr. Kaminski said. "Can't have him goofing around with potential customers too much."

"Good." Miguel swallowed a lump of unease building in his throat. Other packs were civil enough, especially since adjusting to human society left little time or motive for territorial scuffles, but that didn't make him any less anxious about his coworkers waltzing over to them with fliers and free samples in hand. "Alejandro, are you sure you're okay with doing this? Agave Pack seem like a nice bunch, but..."

"I've dealt with my fair share of rowdy customers," he said, giving Miguel's arm a gentle squeeze. "I'll be fine."

"Alright, but if they see you coming there as a challenge—"

"Crouch and back away to the car. I know." Alejandro ran his hand down the back of Miguel's neck, teasing a thrum of pleasure out of his throat as he forced his spines to lie flat. "You're worrying too much."

"What's worrying is that you're going to go nuts having to keep your hands off him for so long." Yolanda rolled her eyes. "Seriously, can't you go five minutes without acting like teenagers?"

"We'll just have to make up for lost time later," Alejandro said. "You sure you don't want me to come with you to meet your pack?"

"Not yet." Not when the thought of having to mention The Crimson Goat to his pack at all sent unease worming through his stomach like rancid meat left to rot in the sun.

###

"What in the stars' name is in there?" Martha snarled as she sniffed one of the takeout containers Miguel was carrying. "You know how Isabella feels about human food."

"Blood sausages. You'd get a kick out of them if you gave them a chance." Miguel cracked open the lid of the top box, letting the sausages' rich aroma wash over the guards' noses. The sausages that were doomed to be lukewarm if they delayed him much longer.

"I'd sooner swallow a rattlesnake whole than put that in my mouth. Blood is meant to be drank, not eaten."

Esmeralda nuzzled her mate's neck, eliciting a quiet thrum of pleasure. "It's food, cariña. We cannot afford to refuse it right now."

Martha growled softly before stepping aside to allow Miguel to bring the fliers and free samples into Saguaro Pack's territory, her movements still slow and stiff from her fight with Isabella. "Fine, but don't blame us if she doesn't take it well."

The telltale sizzle of venom burning through paper told Miguel exactly what Martha did with the flyer he handed her as soon as he was out of sight.

The rest of the pack wasn't much more receptive. Many barely bothered to glance at him, too busy resting or tending to their injuries from the day's hunt to care about the strange things he'd brought with him. Others were more than happy to try the blood sausages, scarfing them down so quickly in the long shadows of the apple orchard that the grease dripped onto the soil in a crimson drizzle. But they wouldn't touch the fliers. No, they didn't want to set a single scale inside a human-run establishment.

Especially not while Isabella still led the pack.

"Sorry, Miguel." José bowed his head to the higher-ranking male, the scent of blood sausage lingering on his breath. "Isabella only just let me join the hunts. Mamá and I have too many mouths to feed to risk it."

There went yet another pack member Miguel had been sure he could count on to at least consider coming. Since he used to spend much of his time caring for the pack's hatchlings, Miguel had spent many days watching over José's younger siblings with him, teaching them how to flush prey out of burrows and making sure their play fighting didn't get out of hand.

"How is your mother?" Miguel asked quietly. Much like him, she was all too familiar with how dangerous coyotes could be. Just thinking about it sent his heart hammering even as he fought to keep his breathing even.

"Dr. Wilkins said she'll eventually be able to hunt again if all goes well." José sucked in a deep breath, his spines quivering with anxiety. "She'll be getting another x-ray in a couple weeks to see how her leg's healing. Might be able to start strengthening it soon if everything's going okay."

"May the stars watch over her," Miguel said. As fierce as chupacabras were, their long, thin limbs were easily damaged by even a single bite.

Miguel knew exactly how debilitating a leg injury could be. His had prevented him from ever learning how to hunt anything much larger than a possum. He'd still contributed to the pack before becoming a chef— hatchlings needed constant supervision and Mr. Miller gladly let him help with the harvest as long as he minded his claws— but with food as scarce as it was the pack needed its hunters more than ever.

That was why the hunters got the best cuts of the kills they brought home and the best nesting places in the barn. Without them, the pack would be wholly dependent on their meager salaries and Mr. Miller's charity.

That was no way to raise hatchlings.

"I'll see if I can bring something back for you," Miguel said. Surely they'd at least be able to spare something for the hatchlings. He'd pay for it himself if he had to.

José dipped his head. "Thank you. I'll be sure to tell everyone I can about your event."

Miguel barely managed to keep his spines from sagging until after José left to take the rest of his free sample to his family. The pack worked so hard, and for what? It wasn't right for an adolescent barely old enough to join a hunting party to bear such a burden. If things continued as they were, there wouldn't be enough hunters left for Mr. Miller to bother housing them all.

Deeper in the orchard, dead leaves crackled.

Miguel tensed, his spines rising. No one was supposed to be tending to the orchards at this hour. With the trees still months away from bearing their brilliant red fruits, Mr. Miller only needed the pack to help prune away dead limbs and compost the dead leaves that cascaded around the trunks.

Nostrils flaring, Miguel strained to decipher the scent of whoever lurked inside the orchard as the box of blood sausages filled his nose with their rich aroma. As far as he could tell, there were two scents. The first was familiar. A young female from his pack of moderate rank. Feeling amorous in a way that Miguel never had, judging from the pheromones that tinted the air.

The other scent was foreign. Male. Receptive to the female's advances.

Claws sinking into the damp earth, Miguel dug a shallow hole and buried the fliers and sausages. They could wait until he'd determined who had snuck into Saguaro Pack's territory.

Miguel heard the pair before he saw them, occasional chirps of pleasure breaking through their contented thrumming. He narrowed his eyes. They were close, then. Very close. Chupacabras never made that sound unless they felt completely happy and at ease, and even then it was mostly reserved for mated pairs and their hatchlings. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat.

The thrumming stopped, replaced by low hissing and scales scraping against dead leaves.

"State your name and your business here," Miguel said, praying to the stars that his voice didn't quiver as badly as his legs. He couldn't hope to best them in a fight, only to stall them long enough for others to find them.

"Miguel?" A snort of disbelief, followed by a hushed conversation. "Is anyone with you?"

His spines relaxed along with his muscles. Rosa was no threat, and if the male was the same one who often dined with her at The Crimson Goat, he wouldn't cause any trouble either. "No."

Rosa approached him, her nostrils twitching as she brushed clumps of soil off her scales. Satisfied that he was indeed alone, she tapped her claws against a tree's roots in a quick rhythm.

The bluish-green male she had been courting slunk out of the shadows to stand beside her. He bent down so low that his head nearly touched the ground as he twisted to bare his throat to Miguel. "I just came to spend time with Rosa," he said. "I mean no harm to you or your pack."

"Take it easy," Miguel said, shaking his head at the unnecessary display. Theatrics, all of it. Although packs were by no means eager to let outsiders onto their land, the days of bloody disputes were long behind them. As long as the pack leader or territory guards were informed of the visit, there was no reason to worry.

That told Miguel all he needed to know about whatever the two of them had been doing.

"Isabella doesn't know about this, does she?" It was more of a statement than a question, but he needed to hear them say it. Needed to know what had caused Rosa to allow this stranger onto their territory instead of meeting him anywhere else.

"No," the younger male said. He backed away from Miguel, only stopping when Rosa clasped his hand in hers.

"And we intend to keep it that way." Rosa nodded toward Miguel's hands, his claws still covered in soil. "Whatever you buried isn't supposed to be here either, or am I to assume you are hiding a kill from the rest of the pack?"

"It's for my job," Miguel said.

"That's not what I asked."

They stared each other down, unblinking despite the sun glaring through the trees as it started setting. At last, Miguel looked away. "No, it isn't, but if The Crimson Goat keeps losing customers and goes out of business, that'll be one less place that actually cares about us." And Alejandro would be devastated.

"They're losing customers? We can't make things worse for them. Not after what they've done for us." The young male nuzzled Rosa's neck, eliciting a noise that was halfway between a thrum and a growl. "Besides, their sausages are delicious."

"Stop distracting me, Andres." Rosa narrowed her eyes, but it was difficult for her to look intimidating when she leaned into his touch. "Show us what you brought."

Miguel led them to where he'd buried the fliers and free samples, digging them up with all the care of a mother preparing her nest. They were all mercifully intact, minus the soil clinging to the advertisements.

"You risked angering Isabella over some meat and paper?" Rosa asked. Her fearful anger was gone now, replaced by dumbfounded curiosity as she tentatively sniffed the fliers.

"Some meat? That's the good stuff!" Andres bent down to help himself to the free samples, only to glance up at Miguel. "You said they're free, right?"

Miguel swallowed a sigh. With food as scarce as it was, he'd hoped his packmates would at least welcome the free meat, but most of them refused to consider giving something from humans a chance regardless of how much it would benefit them. With the sun well on its way toward kissing the ground goodnight, he'd have to get rid of the free samples quickly before Isabella returned with the hunting parties. "Help yourself, and feel free to take some to your pack."

"Awesome, thanks!" Andres crammed one of the sausages into his mouth, almost reaching for another before thinking better of it and closing the box. "You can count us in. Would you mind making us a reservation?"

"Make sure you put it under his name," Rosa said. "The last thing we need is for Isabella to find out about this."

Her narrowed eyes and slit pupils carried an unspoken threat. If any of their packmates found out about what she and her partner were doing, not even the stars could stop her from telling Isabella everything.