Fated

large, seeming to ramble and sprawl without end. Consisting of a series of rooms—very well-appointed rooms from what I can see. The one we currently occupy posing as some kind of grand entry.
    Cade slips two fingers into his mouth and whistles long and low. Then he waits. Waits for … something. I can’t imagine who or what he expects to find here, though I’m braced for more demons.
    But when I see a long-nosed, red-eyed coyote racing toward him—I’m not one bit surprised. Of course El Coyote isn’t just a name—it’s his spirit animal, just as Raven is mine.
    Coyote leaps toward him, plops his long, gangly legs up high on his chest as he nuzzles his snout into Cade’s neck. His nose pushing, prodding, sniffing—then, catching a whiff of something unexpected, he darts his face toward me, bares his sharp teeth, and growls.
    With no way to defend myself, I burrow into Cade’s belt loop, all too aware that this hard shell of a body will do nothing more than provide a nice, satisfying crunch once Coyote’s had his way with me.
    “Hey, boy—how’s my boy? Huh? How’s my boy?” Cade pushes Coyote’s paws back to the ground, scratching his head and ruffling his fur like a favored family pet. Then he straightens, pats the side of his leg in a way that urges Coyote to follow. The two of them bounding deeper into the cave until they come to a well-furnished den, where Cade uses his silver-and-turquoise lighter to set the wall torches blazing.
    “She’s here,” Cade says, settling onto a red velvet sofa that sits low to the ground. Pulling Coyote closer as he smooths the fur at his crown. “The one we’ve been waiting for, Daire Santos, has finally arrived.”
    Coyote growls, snarls, as though he understands—or maybe I’m reading too much into it—maybe it’s just a coincidence. Though probably not—as Cade’s spirit animal, they’re deeply connected.
    All I know for sure is that when he shoves that long snout toward me again—when his nose starts twitching and his growl deepens—I’m overcome with relief when Cade misreads the whole thing.
    “Not to worry, you know I can handle her.” He lowers his face to Coyote’s, nuzzling him with affection. “It’s just a matter of time until I convince her we’re so much better together. So much better to wage peace and not war. Though she’s tougher than I figured. Prettier too. It won’t be easy to convince her—but then easy is overrated. The reward is so much sweeter when it requires a little conniving—and man is she sweet. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
    Coyote throws his head back and howls, spinning in a quick series of circles before he rests at Cade’s feet, tail thumping with anticipation. The move practiced, a much-rehearsed ritual, prompting Cade to make for a large icebox I hadn’t noticed ’til now.
    He flips the lid and retrieves a large crystal bowl filled with bloodied, dark, squishy things. The sight and smell of which triggers the coyote into an absolute frenzy.
    I peek past the belt loop, determined to get a better look. Overcome by the scent of something so putrid, it kicks the cockroach’s most primal instincts into high gear when he senses what lies just before him: random, chopped-up bits—either animal or human—something that repulses me just as much as it drives the roach insane with desire.
    Cade returns to the couch, where he sets the bowl on the glass table before him and scoops his fingers into the sludge. His hand held in offering, tempting the coyote with a heap of putrid, bloodied chunks. Face shining with pride when Coyote slurps it right off his palm with a finesse that’s surprising.
    Coyote licks his chops, gives a quick yelp that comes off as a cross between a growl and a bark, then he goes through the whole spinning ritual again—his version of begging for seconds.
    The performance causing Cade to laugh when he says, “You know the drill—gather the troops and there’s more in it for you.”
    Coyote obeys, streaking from room to room until I can no longer track him. Leaving me alone with Cade who settles back on the couch and readies a snack for himself. Slipping his hand into the bowl, he retrieves a long, stringy bit of ick he’s quick to plop into his mouth. Taking a moment to close his eyes and savor the flavor, before leisurely licking his slick, bloodied fingers, and dipping his hand in for more.

thirty-six
    I creep under Cade’s T-shirt. Using extreme caution to cling to the