The Taste of Home

Chapter 17

The next few days passed in a blur. With The Crimson Goat closed while Mr. Kaminski got the graffiti cleaned up, Miguel had no choice but to return to his duties with the pack. Isabella barely spoke to him except to assign him his tasks for the day, and most of his packmates gave him a wide berth.

Whether it was because word had spread about him taking a job away from the pack or because his scent had mingled with that of his coworkers, he had become even more of an outcast than before. He'd never been outright disliked, but many were bothered by the favoritism Isabella showed him. The first choice of any part of a kill, a nest in the least drafty part of the barn, all this and more Isabella gave him even though he could never join a hunting party. With her clearly upset with him, barely anyone spoke to him as he spent his days gathering fresh bedding for the hatchlings.

Without his pack's companionship, Miguel felt as if he was walking around with a snake squeezing his heart. Each abruptly hushed conversation and averted gaze made it coil even tighter until his chest physically ached.

Not even his date with Alejandro had taken his mind off his increasing isolation from his pack, at least not for long. With the sun warming his scales, Miguel had enjoyed a picnic with him before they fed the ducks together. Seeing the ducklings approach him without fear and listening to Alejandro laugh as they wiggled their tail feathers had eased the ache in his heart, to say nothing of when Alejandro had held his hand.

Miguel had barely noticed it at first, only glancing down when his hand warmed under Alejandro's touch. His fingers were as gentle as a breeze as they wrapped around Miguel's, only strengthening their hold when Miguel reciprocated.

Their date would have been perfect if it weren't for the dogs. Labradors, pitbulls, Chihuahuas, all running through the park without the faintest idea what could become of them if they strayed too far from their owners. But Miguel knew. That awareness settled as a cold weight in his gut, growing heavier with each moment he hid his pack's desperation from Alejandro.

Even when he finally returned to The Crimson Goat later that week, Miguel still couldn't escape how bad things were getting for chupacabras.

Despite the staff's best efforts to scrub it away, the ghost of the graffiti still lingered. If Miguel squinted, he could make out the words "Go home, goat suckers" beneath a crude drawing of a chupacabra biting a decaying goat carcass.

"Sorry you had to see that," Alejandro said as they got settled in the kitchen. They'd only just started the evening's prep work, yet the heat already had him and the other humans mopping sweat from their foreheads. Even Miguel found himself panting as the air conditioning groaned.

"When I get my hands on the assholes who did that, they'll be eating the rest of their meals through a straw," Ralph said, his expression so dark that Miguel was tempted to take his knife from him.

"I've seen worse," Miguel said. "I'm just glad nobody got hurt."

Whoever did it wouldn't get much more than a slap on the wrist even if the police bothered to find them. Perhaps since other humans were involved there'd be a cursory investigation, some reparation for the damage done to the restaurant. With anti-chupacabra sentiment as high as it was, even that would be a small miracle.

"Thanks for your help with David the other night," Miguel said as Yolanda spooned sanguinaccio dolce into ramekins.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, "although it wouldn't surprise me if you had something to do with the headache I had."