The females guarding Saguaro Pack's territory greeted Miguel with thrums of relief. "We thought they wouldn't let you come home," Esmeralda said.

Martha sniffed him as she searched for any signs of injuries, wincing at the claw marks on his chest. "Is it true Isabella did this?"

"On accident."

The pair let out the breaths they'd been holding. There were certainly worse ways to get hurt, as other members of their pack were keenly aware.

"She's waiting for you in the barn." Martha wrinkled her nose. "Might want to bathe before you go in. You reek of humans."

Miguel thanked them and ambled into Saguaro Pack's territory or, more accurately, Mr. Miller's farm.

On one side were the orchards that stretched across the horizon like rows of claws, the branches barren as winter's chill gnawed on them. The other held the pastures, populated only by the ever-present stench of manure now that the livestock had been herded inside for the evening.

Though the farm had many barns, only one belonged to the pack. What had once been a noble red building now shed flecks of paint in the slightest breeze as the old wood groaned in protest. Cracks in the roof provided unwelcome skylights that stabbed their eyes with sunlight every morning and left the hay they bedded on musty when it rained.

Yet, decrepit as it was, it was home.

The sound of slurping welcomed Miguel to the barn. While many had already fed on the coyotes and other prey the hunting parties had caught during the day, those too old or infirm to hunt for themselves were just now dining on whatever the farmer had allotted them.

All save Miguel. He could not hunt anything large enough to pass for a meal, yet Isabella always made sure he had his pick of the choicest cuts even when others had to settle for scraps. As his packmates grew leaner, the glares that followed him grew sharper.

Once again, Isabella had saved something for him. A goat stared up at Miguel with wide eyes as it bleated in terror. An actual, living goat with plenty of flesh fattening its sides and long, curving horns. Not even a pack leader could wish for a finer feast.

"Thought you might still be hungry." Isabella tugged the lead wrapped around the goat's neck, guiding it toward him. "Valentina had this sent over to apologize for missing our meeting, but you deserve it much more than I do."

"I'm actually full," Miguel said. Two bowls of soup and some pudding weren't quite enough to sate his hunger, but he had too much on his mind to worry about the dull ache in his stomach.

"Suit yourself." She beckoned to José, a gangly young male keeping watch over a pair of hatchlings tussling in the hay. "Why don't you go share this with your mother? She'll need it when your brothers and sisters hatch."

"Thank you, Isabella." He bowed his head, wincing as one of the youngsters clamored onto his back and swatted his shoulders. "Hunting practice isn't nearly as fun when there's only one target."

"You make a much better goat than I do," Miguel said with a chuckle. "I'll show them how to block a burrow tomorrow, give your back a break."

"Looking forward to it!" José took hold of the goat's lead before dragging it and his younger siblings off to where their mother lay curled around her eggs.

"That's, what, her fourth clutch?" Miguel shook his head as the young ones took turns pouncing at the doomed prey, each leap sending terrified bleats echoing through the barn. "She's going to have her claws full."

"And so will I. All these young ones, and what can we offer them?" Isabella sighed. "Other packs' leftovers, and that's if we're lucky."

"About that. I need to talk to Mr. Miller about something." Better to tell him and Isabella about the job offer at the same time. Otherwise, each was bound to use the other as an excuse to say no.

Isabella's spines bristled. "I swear if anyone from that restaurant thinks they can make you—"

"It's nothing like that," Miguel said.

"Right, and I'm starting to grow fur." Isabella let out a noise that was half hiss and half sigh. "I'll take you to him."

She led him from the barn to a massive white farmhouse. Unlike the pack's dwelling, the farmer's boasted a fresh coat of paint, a leak-free roof, and air conditioning. It wasn't long before Mr. Miller and a blast of cold air welcomed them inside.

Much had changed in Mr. Miller's house since Miguel had frequented it as a hatchling. Gone were the collection of old VHS tapes, the toys sloppily whittled out of fallen branches, and the tattered rope they used to play tug of war with. The boy he'd known had long since disappeared, replaced by a man whose face and hands had been ravaged by the decades since Miguel had lost his friend.

"Those are some nasty scratches you've got there," Mr. Miller said, fiddling with the cigarette in his mouth. He ran a hand through his tangled tumbleweed of a beard as he stared at Miguel's chest. "If you're planning to take a mate, better to pick someone more gentle so you don't give Dr. Wilkins a migraine."

Miguel chuckled uneasily. He'd never been interested in mating, although he had tried to court a male or two before. Not that any of them had ever become anything serious thanks to Isabella scaring them halfway to shedding. "That's nothing to worry about. I need to talk to you about my job."

"Ah, so you ruffled a few feathers in town. Right in calving season, too. How long'll they be keepin' you? They'd better know I need all the claws I can get out here while those pesky coyotes'll be sniffin' around the herd." While Miguel couldn't hunt them himself, he kept more capable claws free by keeping the hatchlings occupied or tending to their nests.

"Maybe forever." At Mr. Miller and Isabella's sharp intakes of breath, Miguel blurted out, "They offered me a job. A real one, with training and pay."

Mr. Miller let out a long, low whistle. "Well I'll be damned. Where at?"

"It's a restaurant," Miguel said. "The Crimson Goat."

"The one that served us that filth?" Isabella's nostrils flared as her spines rose. "And you did not think to tell me about this first?"

Miguel bowed his head, relieved that Mr. Miller's presence would force her to keep her temper in check. "With so many hatchlings on the way, we'll need all the money we can get to provide a good future for them."

"You're not wrong," Isabella grumbled, "but you still should have told me."

Miguel let out a long, slow breath as he turned his attention to Mr. Miller. The whole pack was under contract with his family. Without his approval, it didn't matter what Isabella said. He'd be stuck. "Would this be alright with you, Andy?"

A sigh sent a puff of acrid smoke into Miguel's face. "Don't call me that, especially when you're planning to leave me in the lurch. Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass it will be to find someone to replace you? One less hunter'll be out in the pasture."

"I know, but maybe there's something I can do to make it up to you?" Another puff of smoke. Miguel forced himself to breathe it in without gagging as he added, almost as an afterthought, "Mr. Miller."

Mr. Miller took a drag from his cigarette. "You know what other folks will do to someone like you?" He pinched the lit end between his fingers and watched the last wisp of smoke drift away. "That's not my problem. But whether you work here or not, you're still living here. As long as you give me a third of what you make now and a quarter once calving season is over, it can stay that way."

Miguel nodded. That was fair enough. "Isabella?"

Her claws clicked against the hardwood floor as she narrowed her eyes at him. "I know this will help the pack, but what about you?"

"Cooking seems like interesting work, at least," Miguel said. "It couldn't hurt to learn."

"But other things might." She nodded toward his bad leg and growled softly. "You can go, but if anyone ever hurts you again, I will skin them myself and drag you home."