The Taste of Home

Chapter 28

Days after Alejandro's family visited, Miguel's head still ached.

It wasn't too bad most of the time. A dull pain not unlike that in his leg when he slept on it wrong. But when he ate...

That's when the throbbing started.

Stabbing pain shot through his venom glands with every mouthful. Anything solid rested in his stomach like a rock, leaving his gut growling as he sipped on nothing but soup.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Ralph asked as he poured him another bowl of bone broth. The previous one had been used to wash down a dose of venom suppressant, its bitterness still lingering on Miguel's tongue.

Alejandro pressed his hand against Miguel's forehead. "You're getting warm again."

"I'm fine." Miguel attempted to straighten himself to his full height, only to wince and lean against the counter as spots danced in his vision.

"You're not fine, and I swear I'll carry you home myself if I have to." Alejandro took Miguel's face between his hands. His fingers stroked the ridges of scales running down his jaw. "Why won't you at least take the day off?"

"And miss spending time with you?" Miguel thrummed weakly, leaning forward to touch his lips to Alejandro's cheek. "Don't worry about me."

"What's he supposed to do, Scales?" Yolanda grumbled. "You've been acting even weirder than usual all week, and you almost fell asleep in the walk-in."

Before Miguel could explain how the cold had made him drowsy, a waiter ran up to the pass and called out, "One order of duck blood soup and one extra spicy blood sausage!" He untied his apron and threw it over the pass. "And I'm not going to be the one to bring them out. That thing's antsier than a mouse in a snake cage!"

Alejandro groaned. "For fuck's sake, don't call them things!" He folded the apron into a neat rectangle, creasing it far more aggressively than he needed to. "I'll handle it."

"Actually, I think it would do me good to get out of the kitchen for a bit," Miguel said. "It's darker out there, easier on my eyes. Aside from not being able to look at you, of course." Although he'd certainly be glad not to hear about how horrible he looked for a few minutes.

"Don't try to flirt your way out of this," Alejandro said firmly, doing his best to look stern despite the blush darkening his cheeks. "If you feel even the tiniest bit worse, you're going to tell me, and I'm going to drive you straight home. Okay?"

"Okay," Miguel said, knowing full well he wouldn't. He made Alejandro worry far too much as it was. The least he could do was make it through the rest of the night without needing to be fussed over like he'd just hatched.

After assuring Alejandro he'd be careful, Miguel traded his spatula for a notepad. Although waiting tables wasn't his favorite part of the job, Miguel still found himself bobbing his head to the bass-heavy instrumental music that filled the restaurant. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of it, tuning out his aching head as he watched the customers enjoy their meals.

There were a lot more of them than there used to be. Word had spread about the changes to the menu, and some nights they even had to turn away those who hadn't made a reservation. With regulars like Luis, Rosa, and Andres claiming the best tables for themselves more often than not, The Crimson Goat had gone from a hidden gem to the premier place for packs to mingle with each other.

The customer who had cost them a waiter was not a regular.

José had developed a fair bit of muscle since Miguel had last seen him. His time hunting with the pack had thickened his limbs and earned him what was bound to be the first of many scars below his eye. Yet, despite having taken his first steps into adulthood, the way his claws scraped the table betrayed the nervousness of a youngster.

At the sight of Miguel bringing his food, José straightened himself up to his full height, still more than a head shorter than Miguel. "Thank goodness," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I was starting to think I'd never see you again."

"I'm always here, just usually in the kitchen," Miguel said. He set the duck blood soup and blood sausage in front of him with a flourish. "I'm so glad you decided to give this place a try! Does Isabella know you're here?" If she did, perhaps she'd begun to change her mind about this place.

About him.

José shrugged. "I doubt it. I'm not part of Saguaro Pack anymore." He sounded more tired than sad about that, his head held high despite his sagging spines.

Miguel's voice softened. "Please tell me she didn't banish you, too." José's mother wouldn't stand for that, and if she left so would her hatchlings. Poor things, too young to hunt for themselves and left without a pack to call their own. Miguel would have to make sure José and his family stayed well fed. It was the least he could do.

José shook his head. "My folks and I left when Rosa did. Agave Pack is small, but they've been kind to us. Thank goodness for that because human dwellings are hard enough to adjust to as it is, especially those awful metal boxes."

"Elevators definitely aren't my favorite thing either," Miguel said, "but why did you leave Saguaro Pack?"

Sawdust rained onto the floor as José's claws scraped against the table. "Things have gotten bad. Really bad. You see this?" He pointed at the jagged line of grayish scales below his eye. "David gave it to me. Smashed a bottle in my face when he found out the coyotes got one of the calves."

"Stars, you're lucky you didn't lose an eye!" Miguel growled. "Rotten egg, that boy."

José hummed his agreement. "Rosa was already planning to go be with her mate, so a bunch of us went with her."

"Did Isabella not try to stop you? Talk to Mr. Miller about how bad things have gotten?" Andy didn't always listen to her, but surely even he had to understand his son had gotten out of hand. Getting him involved wouldn't heal José's scar, but it should at least get the pack some protection.

Or would it? Maybe he already knew and simply didn't care. He certainly hadn't gone out of his way to check on Miguel when he'd become packless, and they were friends.

At least, they used to be.

A low growl rattled out of José's throat. "Isabella hasn't been the same since she banished you. Snaps at everyone like a rabid coyote, and that's even if she isn't joining the night hunts." The words dripped from José's tongue like venom. "She's going to get herself shot. Coming back in the morning with her scales more red than green..."

Miguel's stomach twisted. Stars, the pack was still desperate enough to hunt dogs. He squeezed his eyes shut as his headache redoubled its pounding. It was all too much.

But that wasn't the end of it. "It's no wonder she keeps getting challenged. If someone doesn't talk some sense into her soon, there won't be a Saguaro Pack the way things are going."

So Martha had only been the first of many to question his sister's leadership. The worst part was Miguel couldn't blame them, yet the thought of anyone hurting her still brought a thunderous growl out of his throat and a sharp, stabbing pain in his venom glands.

He had to help her. Had to go home. Had to—

The pain sank its fangs into him.

Miguel stumbled as blackness filled his vision. Cries of alarm filled the restaurant as his legs gave out.