With nothing to show for their labor but a couple cheap trinkets, Miguel and Alejandro retreated to Zest Fest's concessions stands. Miguel's eyes and mouth both watered at the spicy scents that permeated the air. With everything from cayenne-dusted popcorn to deep-fried peppers to choose from, they perused every booth before settling on their snacks.

"That guy was a real scumbag, even by carnival standards," Alejandro said. Powdered sugar dusted his mouth as he bit into a deep-fried Oreo. Unlike most of Zest Fest's visitors, he'd opted to punish his arteries instead of his taste buds. "I still can't believe he cheated you like that. Everyone saw you win."

"It's better not to make a fuss." Venom dripped from Miguel's fangs as he liquefied a jalapeño popper into cheesy mush in his mouth. He'd let himself get worked up earlier, and his fangs still ached to take out his frustration. What in the stars' name had gotten into him? "Sorry I couldn't get that bear for you."

"Don't worry about that. I just..." Alejandro sighed. "I just hate seeing people treat you like that."

"It's not like they don't have their reasons." Miguel grimaced as his dripping venom sizzled a hole through his napkins. He held up his hands and flexed his claws. "Folks like me don't exactly look harmless when we get riled up."

"That's nothing. You should see Ralph when he gets mad."

"He told me he got thrown in jail after breaking his hand punching a guy." While laughing as if the story was the funniest joke in the world.

Alejandro snorted. "That was in college. Some creep tried to mug us on our way home from a frat party, and they only had him in jail until they finally figured out who'd attacked who first."

Thank goodness Ralph seemed to have calmed down a bit since then. He was more than willing to speak his mind in the kitchen, but he never let his fists do the talking. "You guys went to school together?"

"And we dated for a while, but that didn't work out." Alejandro's eyes took on a faraway look as he mindlessly turned the last of his Oreos in his hand. "He seems happy with Lucy, I think. They got matching tattoos a while back."

Miguel fought to keep his voice neutral as a strange sense of relief washed over him. "Good for him."

That relief was soon tinged with something far less pleasant. Ralph wouldn't have let Alejandro down. He would have walked away from the booth with that bear, maybe a whole stack of them.

"Sorry today was such a letdown," Miguel said. "If I had just thrown harder..."

"Then that guy would have found some other excuse to be a dick. I'd say we still managed to get some cool stuff." Even though the sun wasn't due to set for another hour or two, Alejandro's glow stick lit up his face with a comforting red glow.

"I have to admit, these are pretty neat." The hatchlings would get an absolute kick out of Miguel's once he got home.

"Attention, everyone," said a voice crackling through Zest Fest's loudspeakers, "there's just five minutes left to sign up for tonight's Spice Showdown. Last one there's as mild as mayonnaise!"

"What in the stars' name is she talking about?" Miguel asked.

"A spicy food eating contest," Alejandro explained. "You should give it a shot! Yolanda wins every year, and I'd say it's about time someone gave her a run for her money."

"She already hates me. I don't even want to know how she'd react if I beat her." She'd probably find a way to barricade him in the prey room.

"Maybe she'll be nicer to you once she realizes you have something in common. And even if she doesn't, do you really want to let her get in the way of you having fun?" Alejandro finished off the last of his Oreos and gave him a crumb-speckled smile. "I'll be rooting for you from the audience."

Worst-case scenario, at least Miguel would get even more spicy goodness. The jalapeño poppers had only managed to leave his stomach snarling for more.

Fairgoers darted out of the way as he ambled to the stage where the Spice Showdown would take place. "What do I need to do to enter?" he asked the young woman manning the signup booth.

She looked him up and down with raised eyebrows before realizing he was serious. "Entry fee's ten bucks," she said as she took out the pen tucked behind her ear, "and I'll need your name so we can announce it if you win."

"It's Miguel of Saguaro Pack." He patted down his pockets, but only a few coins jingled inside. "Shoot, I could have sworn I brought more money."

A whistle sounded across the stage as Ralph held a ten-dollar bill aloft. "I'll cover him!"

The woman collected the entry fee and led Miguel over to an empty seat next to Ralph. "Can't beat you if you don't enter, can I?" Ralph said with a smirk.

Yolanda rolled her eyes from her spot on Ralph's other side. "As if either of you stand a chance. I've won this thing five years in a row. They don't call me the Capsaicin Queen for nothing!"

"It's because of your temper," Ralph said. He chuckled as her face turned as red as hot sauce.

Miguel crouched low in his seat, grateful that he wasn't between them. The audience gave him enough to worry about as it was. They murmured as they took bets on the competitors, with more than a few people snapping pictures of the lone chupacabra on stage.

One part of his view was much more pleasant than the rest. As promised, Alejandro had claimed a seat in the front row. He caught Miguel's eye and gave him an exaggerated wave that would have been impossible to miss even if he'd been in the very back.

Once the deadline for entering the contest passed, the woman who had jotted down Miguel's name marched to the center of the stage with a microphone in hand. "Welcome to Zest Fest's tenth annual Spice Showdown! Are you ready to get spicy?" The crowd roared the affirmative. "You all know the drill. Three plates full of spicy wings, each more torturous to the tongue than the last. Five minutes to finish each one. You can't finish or you drink milk like a total pansy? You lose! First to finish all three plates wins the grand prize."

Festival workers in matching uniforms set a tall glass of milk in front of each contestant, followed by a plate piled high with chicken wings drenched in sauce. "On your mark. Get set. Eat!"

The humans set upon their plates as savagely as rabid coyotes. Bright orange sauce smeared across their faces, and scraps of meat stood out from between Yolanda's teeth as she smirked at her competitors. Now more than ever, she looked like a pack leader defending her position from those who were foolish enough to challenge her.

Or, in Miguel's case, hungry enough.

His teeth crunched through chicken bones as he shoved them into his mouth. The sharp splinters dissolved in a flood of venom, joining the mixture of mildly tingly ingredients dancing on his taste buds.

The humans stared at him as he ate. "Fuck this," muttered an adolescent whose dreadlocks shielded his eyes from view as he abandoned the table. "Lost my appetite."

Others followed suit, forfeiting with a varying mixture of horror, disgust, and, in a few cases, admiration.

"I hope the next ones are spicier." Miguel's tongue flicked out as he licked the sauce from his fangs.

"Don't worry," said the hostess as she motioned for his second plate to be brought over. "We're just getting started!"

She wasn't kidding.

The first batch of wings had merely tickled Miguel's tongue. Round two burned as much as his venom.

"Habanero?" Yolanda asked as she tore into her helping. "Child's play!"

"Speak for yourself," Ralph muttered. He fidgeted in his seat, huffing and puffing as his eyes watered.

Relieved gasps broke out as some of the competitors caved in and guzzled their milk. Others claimed they were full, quitting without dousing the spice in a display of pure masochism. Each one received a hearty round of applause as they made their way off the stage.

By the time anyone was ready for their third and final plate, only Miguel, Yolanda, and Ralph remained. This time, they were presented not with a pile of meat but with five individual wings. Miguel's eyes burned just looking at them.

"You all are in for a very special treat," the hostess said. "Remember last year's ghost pepper sauce? This year, we've got something even spicier. Ranking in at over a million and a half on the Scoville scale, the Carolina Reaper's coming for you!"

The initial taste was strangely fruity. Sweet, even. Miguel almost asked if they were being pranked.

Then the burning started.

Tears streamed down Miguel's face as the blazing inferno mingled with his venom. His throat tightened against the heat in a series of spasms.

Yet, somehow, a deep, rumbling thrum pushed its way out of his mouth. It was delicious!

Beside him, Ralph chugged his milk before frantically waving for another glass. "Jesus fuck, that's hot!"

"Last chance to go out with your dignity intact, Scales," Yolanda said between bites. Sweat poured down her flushed face as she sank her teeth into her second wing, her fingers trembling.

Miguel's plate swam before his eyes. He couldn't see anything through his tears save the dangerously delicious sticks of meat taunting him.

Through the heat and pain, he heard Alejandro cheering his name.

"Stars protect me," he muttered before cramming the rest of the wings into his mouth.

His tongue writhed like a snake in the resulting inferno, and his venom glands ached with the strain of struggling to overpower the peppers. Desperate to keep the burning emulsion inside, Miguel clamped his hands over his mouth and tilted his head back. His throat quivered against the scorching, euphoric ache, but at last he swallowed the wings.

Yolanda could only gawk at him. "What the hell are you?"

"The winner!" yelled the hostess. Miguel wobbled to his feet as she raised his arm above his head in a victory pose. Applause thundered through the audience, yet, even amidst all the excitement, it was impossible to miss the sprinkling of boos that pierced through the noise.

The hostess led Miguel off the stage. Her lips moved, but all he could do was raise a hand to the side of his head. The ringing in his ears was nothing compared to the burning in his mouth, but he still couldn't hear a word she said over the crowd.

After saying something to one of the other staff members, the hostess brought Miguel a glass filled to the brim with brown slush and topped with white foam. The cool glass sweated in his hand as he brought it to his lips. Under normal circumstances, he would have curled his lip at the overwhelming sweetness, but it eased the burning in his mouth well enough for him to guzzle the whole thing.

"Chocolate milkshake," the hostess's muffled voice broke through his daze along with a laugh. "Works every time!"

"Thank you," Miguel muttered.

"Don't mention it. You can't exactly pose for pictures if you look like you're going to pass out, can you?"

It was only then that Miguel noticed the news crew that was setting up cameras around the stage. Meanwhile, Yolanda was positively fuming. With her face flushed with more than the spice of the wings she'd somehow managed to finish, she stormed off the stage in a huff.

"So she's both a sore winner and a sore loser. Figures." The hostess rolled her eyes in Yolanda's direction before returning her attention to Miguel. "We normally give everyone who beats the challenge t-shirts, but something tells me you might prefer something else."

"It's hard to find stuff that fits me," Miguel said sheepishly. And even when he did, he'd still managed to rip far too many shirts with his clumsy claws.

"I figured. You shouldn't have any problems with the grand prize, but is there anything you'd like to substitute for the shirt?"

"Would it be possible for me to have one of those giant stuffed bears? My friend and I couldn't manage to win one."

"Let me guess, Randal cheated you out of it?" Miguel's nod earned an exasperated sigh. "Typical. I'm sure I can convince him to part with one. Now you go get cleaned up, okay? The news folks will want to film you getting the grand prize."

Miguel gratefully accepted a towel and scrubbed the last of the Carolina Reaper sauce and milkshake off his scales. Sticky residue clung to his jaw no matter how hard he rubbed. He felt bloated and more than a little gross, but at least he wouldn't look like he'd run wild in the concessions stands.

Fifteen minutes later, the hostess jogged back over. "Get on stage. They'll start filming any minute!"

The band had started setting out their gear for the night's concert. News cameras trained on their instruments shifted until they stared Miguel down. His heart hammered under the glare of the spotlight.

He didn't hear a word the hostess said to the reporters, nor could he make out any of the news crew's faces from behind the relentless burn of their equipment's lights. All he could do was squint and pray the dull throbbing in the back of his head didn't develop into a full-blown migraine.

A massive gift basket filled with all kinds of hot sauce, salsa, and other spicy treats was thrust into his hands. Someone held a microphone in front of him, but it was all too loud. Too bright.

Too much.

Then Miguel saw the bear in the audience, smack dab in the middle of the front row with all his coworkers. Alejandro sat beside it, watching the stage with a look of pure joy on his face.

Miguel took long, deep breaths in an attempt to ease his hammering heart. He had to pull himself together for Alejandro's sake.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" said a reporter with an unnaturally white smile and sharp, angular cheekbones. "So, how does it feel to be this year's grand champion?"

Miguel leaned down to answer her at eye level. "Like I lit my mouth on fire."

The audience chuckled. They were all too familiar with the agony of too-spicy hot sauce.

"What made you decide to enter? This is the first time Zest Fest has had such a unique competitor."

"One of my coworkers convinced me to give it a shot." Miguel ducked his head in embarrassment as a thrum of pleasure worked its way out of his throat. So much for not embarrassing himself on TV. "The other two finalists work at The Crimson Goat, too."

"That's an odd name for a farm."

"It's a restaurant, actually. We serve the finest sanguine cuisine in all of San Antonio."

"Sounds like anyone with iron taste buds better make a reservation!"

After a couple follow-up questions, the reporter mercifully dismissed Miguel to his seat in the front row while the news crew clustered around the stage to film the concert. He scooped up the bear he'd won and placed it in Alejandro's lap. "Here's a little something for you."

"Thank you so much!" Alejandro hugged the stuffed animal tightly to his chest.

For a moment, Miguel wished he could trade places with it. Instead, he scooted over in his seat so that his leg was almost touching Alejandro's.