Episode 5: Of Burned Potatoes and Bad Omens
1340 Words
Episode 5: Of Burned Potatoes and Bad Omens
Selene
I almost set the kitchen on fire.
And by “almost,” I mean I did. Flames, smoke, chaos—the whole mess.
All because I tried to make baked potatoes.
Who knew root vegetables were capable of vengeance?
“Okay, okay—everybody out!” Marcy shouted, waving a towel like a flag of surrender as smoke filled the kitchen. “Selene! Drop the pan!”
“I can’t!” I cried, clutching the flaming tray with two potholders. “It’s possessed!”
“You set it to 500 degrees!”
“I thought that made it faster!”
From behind me, someone burst out laughing. Not just a polite chuckle—real laughter, deep and rich and obnoxiously charming.
Lysander.
Of course.
“I swear,” he said, walking in like some culinary prince. “You’re a medical prodigy and a kitchen hazard. What kind of imbalance is that?”
“Do you want these potatoes thrown at your head?” I hissed.
He grinned. “Only if they’re still on fire. Adds drama.”
Eventually, we got the flames out (thanks to Marcy and a bucket of water), and I ended up sitting on the floor, soot on my nose, with Lysander handing me a mug of something that probably wasn’t tea.
“Why were you even cooking?” he asked, watching me over the rim of his mug.
I shrugged. “I thought it’d be… nice. For the pack. Or whatever.”
“Or for Kael?” he added quietly.
I stiffened.
He took another sip, eyes dancing with mischief. “Just an observation.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”
“Nope,” Lysander said cheerfully. “Which means more burned food for me.”
I laughed despite myself.
---
Kael
“Still no signs?” I asked the scout, scanning the northern ridge.
“None. But the rogue’s trail ended near the ravine. Too clean. Too deliberate.”
I nodded grimly. “He’s hiding something.”
I hadn’t slept in two days.
My wolf was restless. Agitated.
Ever since the rogue muttered the name The Howler, I’d felt it in my bones—something bad was coming. Something ancient. Something we weren’t ready for.
And Selene…
Selene had almost smiled at Lysander yesterday.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It was… concern.
Lysander wasn’t dangerous.
But he was charming. Easy. Present.
I wasn’t.
I couldn’t be.
Not while this shadow loomed over us.
So I forced myself deeper into the wilds, further from her scent, her voice, her smile.
The wall held. For now.
---
Selene
After the flaming potato incident, I’d planned to hide in the infirmary for a week.
Instead, I found myself paired with Lysander again—this time, tasked with checking the eastern sentry posts.
“Heads up,” he said as we approached the forest trail. “I brought snacks. And they’re not on fire.”
“Wow,” I said dryly. “My hero.”
“I live to serve.”
He handed me a granola bar and winked.
Honestly, it was hard not to like Lysander. He was quick, warm, and surprisingly insightful beneath the sarcasm.
But he wasn’t Kael.
Which, frankly, made him safer.
As we walked the trail, Lysander glanced sideways. “You’ve changed, you know.”
“How so?”
“You smile less. Glare more. And you’re quieter. Like something’s weighing you down.”
I hesitated. “Kael and I…”
“Yeah,” he said gently. “I figured.”
We walked in silence for a moment.
Then he added, “If you ever want to talk about it—or not talk and just eat terrible snacks in silence—I’m around.”
I looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
“Thanks, Lysander.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “Anytime.”
---
That night, I had the dream again.
The one with the blood moon.
I was standing in a field of white wolves, all watching the sky as a howl pierced the air—low, ragged, ancient.
And when I turned, I saw a pair of glowing red eyes staring at me from the forest’s edge.
I woke up gasping.
And I wasn’t alone.
A presence loomed outside the infirmary—silent, breathing.
I grabbed the dagger Kael gave me years ago from under my pillow and slipped out into the hall.
Nothing.
No scent. No sound.
Just the wind whispering through the trees.
But I knew something had been there.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
Kael
The body was found at dawn.
Another rogue—slashed open and strung up in the trees near the northern border, symbols carved into his chest.
Lysander was the one who called me.
“I thought you were exaggerating about the threat,” he said, voice grim. “I was wrong.”
I stared at the markings.
I recognized them.
Barely.
Old symbols. Pre-pack language. Used by feral alphas long before the peace treaties.
The rogue’s eyes had been gouged out.
It was a warning.
One meant for me.
I turned to Lysander. “Where’s Selene?”
“Infirmary. Why?”
“Keep her there.”
“Kael…”
“Keep. Her. There.”
---
Selene
I was scrubbing surgical tools when Lysander appeared again—this time with tension in his eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Just… rogue trouble. Kael’s handling it.”
“Did someone die?”
“I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”
I swallowed. “Is he okay?”
“He didn’t say that either.”
I hated how that made my chest ache.
I wanted to go to him. Demand answers. See with my own eyes that he wasn’t hurt.
But I stayed.
Because that’s what Kael had wanted.
Distance.
Space.
Walls.
Lysander must’ve noticed my silence because he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“You don’t have to hold it in, you know.”
I met his gaze.
And something in me cracked—just a little.
---
That night, the wind howled louder than usual.
And for the first time in years, I locked my door.
---
Kael
“She’s being watched,” I told Elder Ren, voice low. “And I need to find out by who before it’s too late.”
“You think it’s The Howler?”
I nodded. “Or someone working for him.”
“The girl… she matters, doesn’t she?”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed. “We can protect her here.”
“No,” I said. “He’ll come for her first. I need to hunt him down before he gets that chance.”
“Then go.”
I turned.
But just before I left, Elder Ren added, “And what if she no longer waits for you when you return?”
I paused.
And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t know the answer.
---
Selene
The infirmary had never felt so empty.
Lysander had stopped by earlier, bringing honey cakes and bad jokes, and I’d laughed. Genuinely laughed.
But later, as I stood at the window watching the moon rise, I couldn’t stop thinking of Kael.
Where he was.
What he was doing.
If he was alone.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
It creaked open slowly.
And there stood a man I didn’t recognize—tall, rugged, eyes like storm clouds, and a scar down one cheek.
“Sorry,” he said, voice low. “I was told the healer stays here.”
I blinked. “That’s me.”
“I have a message,” he said. “From the north. About a creature who leaves no scent. And a name no one dares speak.”
I stepped closer. “The Howler?”
His lips tightened. “We call him something else.”
“What?”
“The Moon-Eater.”
---
- Writer
