The Taste of Home

Chapter 11

The stars welcomed Miguel back to the farm. By the light of the full moon, he followed the worn-down path to the shed where the pack stored extra food and supplies. Although it had once been filled with enough cured meats to feed the pack when prey was scarce and Mr. Miller couldn't spare any livestock, the shed now held little more than a few stray bones and the blankets the pack huddled under when winter actually lived up to its name.

Miguel placed his basket of winnings from Zest Fest in the far corner. His packmates were more than welcome to enjoy his prize of course, but he hoped to have at least some of the salsa left to himself when he didn't feel so bloated.

All was quiet and still until he made his way to the barn for the night.

Miguel's body reacted before his mind registered what was happening. The spines on his neck quivered on end, and his venom glands ached. A sickly sweet smell that was too faint for human noses to detect made him gag despite his nostrils and throat instinctively constricting against the musk.

Even when his mind caught up with his body, Miguel refused to believe the scene in front of him. This couldn't be right. Isabella had ruled the pack for well over a decade, and she had reigned unchallenged for almost as long. None could doubt that she put the pack before all else, nor could they dispute her physical strength and hunting prowess.

Yet, there was Martha baring her fangs and rattling her spines at his sister. Miguel pushed himself through the crowd surrounding the combatants until he had a clear view of the action. No blood had been drawn— they were still just posturing— but there was no denying things would escalate. Esmeralda sidled over to Miguel, her eyes firmly fixed on her mate's twitching muscles. Their hands found each other in the hay covering the floor, sharing a reassuring squeeze and an unspoken understanding that no matter what happened neither would blame the other's family.

"I, Martha of Saguaro Pack, challenge you for your position as leader. You have allowed the humans to mistreat us for far too long, and it is time for someone else to fix things before it's too late." She puffed out her chest and rattled her spines. "As you have no mate, I shall fight you alone."

"I, Isabella of Saguaro Pack, accept your challenge." She drew herself up to her full height, baring her fangs at her opponent. "I permit you the first strike, as is tradition."

"May your claws strike true," chorused the pack.

Claws as long and dark as the night slashed Isabella's skin. With her blood dripping onto the hay, the fight could begin in earnest.

Martha and Isabella crashed together in a growling mass of green scales. Claws sank into flesh, but not fangs. Never fangs. They were both too honorable to resort to treating each other as little more than prey.

Guttural growls filled the barn as the pair grappled with each other. The same bulky muscles that helped the females bring down prey tired by the males' darting strikes made their fight a contest of brute strength. One moment of weakness could decide the victor.

Isabella dug her claws into Martha's shoulders, bearing forward with all her weight in an attempt to knock her off balance. Martha winced, bracing herself low to the ground as her feet slid. Isabella panted from the strain of struggling to pin her opponent.

Martha lunged.

The crowd hissed in sympathy as Martha slammed Isabella onto the ground, sending up a cloud of sawdust. Martha's fangs glistened with venom, forcing her to spit it off to the side to avoid violating the ancient traditions. "Concede," she snarled.