Once Upon a Werewolf |Isaac Lahey|

Epilogue

"Isaac!" I yell from the top of the stairs, "Is that smoke I smell?"

My question is answered when the fire alarm starts blaring from the kitchen. I rush down the stairs to find Isaac with his hands covering his ears, standing next to a smoking oven. In a quick movement I slide the candle I had grabbed from my room onto the flour covered counter and pull the now burnt pizza out of the oven. Once the pizza is on the counter I take the oven mitt in my hand and use it to fan the air. Isaac snaps out of his trance and opens the door to the backyard and a few windows for good measure.

"I thought that the whole werewolf thing meant you would have a better reaction time." I say when the alarm finally shuts off.

"I never said it would make me a better cook!" Isaac defends, "I didn't think the pizza would cook that fast!"

"I told you to watch it while I went upstairs! Shouldn't you have smelled the burning crust before me?"

"In theory, yes," Isaac responds, looking sheepish against my accusing gaze, "But I may have been distracted."

"By?" I ask, looking around the kitchen for what could have taken his attention. Based on the mess of dishes in the sink, pizza sauce stains and toppings on the counter and flower covering almost every surface I guess that it wasn't cleaning.

"I heard something outside," Isaac says, "I just went to check it out."

My eyes look out the open door, and a chill comes over my body. It's only been a few weeks since the chaos the Alpha Pack and Ms. Blake brought on Beacon Hills settled down, but I still feel uneasy thinking about what else might be lurking in the night. Isaac must sense my anxiety because he reaches over to shut the door again.

"I'm sure it was nothing," Isaac says, walking back to where I am leaning against the counter, "Besides since we burnt the pizza I think we have bigger problems. This will hardly impress your father, will it?"

"Oh no my dad loves burnt pizza," I joke, pushing the fear away with considerable effort.

"He hates me doesn't he?" Isaac asks, flicking the black crust of the pizza with a frown.

"My father doesn't hate you," I respond, reaching out to run my fingers over his arm, "He just isn't a fan of werewolves..."

Isaac has been trying for weeks to get on my dad's good side, but it wasn't going exactly according to plan. First he just tried to be as polite as possible, but my dad got sick of being called "sir" and told Isaac to knock it off. Then Isaac tried relating to my father by talking about sports, to which he responded by asking Isaac if he thought it was cheating for a werewolf to be competing against humans. The last straw came when my my dad mentioned how he might not own a gun, but he got quite close to the Sheriff down in the cellar, who owns many. All of my attempts to intervene were shut down, and to be honest I wasn't used to seeing this side of my father. Isaac was persistent though, and it was his idea to make some homemade pizza for my dad after his shift at the hospital.