Page 16 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

SIXTEEN

SILAS

S ilas hadn’t spoken since Ava had walked away.

He kept his mouth shut during the walk to the war room, past broken walls and ash trails, past soldiers with bandaged arms and scuffed boots who watched him like he was half-hero, half-ghost. Let them wonder.

He didn’t have the stomach to explain anything, not after that kiss.

Caz walked beside him, unusually quiet, for once not cracking jokes or elbowing him with some jab. Maybe he sensed that something inside Silas had shifted, twisted into a shape he didn’t recognize but couldn’t ignore.

Inside the war room, Landon stood in front of a wall of displays, digital maps and heat sensors glowing in low red. His jaw flexed as he studied the board, a hand on his hip, the other pressed against the table’s edge like it was holding him up.

When the door clicked shut behind Silas, Landon turned. No smile. No greeting.

“You dragged a civilian into a live strike zone,” he said flatly.

“She dragged herself,” Silas answered, just as flat.

“And you didn’t stop her?”

“She saved a pup.”

Landon’s expression cracked, just a little. “I know. I saw the footage.”

Silas crossed his arms, his voice colder than he meant it to be. “Then you know she didn’t hesitate. Not once.”

Silence stretched.

Caz let out a low whistle and pushed off the wall. “I’ll give you two a minute. Let me know when it’s safe to come back in.” He slipped out before either could stop him.

Silas shifted on his feet, eyes catching the faint scorch marks still marring the floor near the main entrance. Smoke had sunk into the stone like blood. You could scrub it, but it would never be gone.

“She’s not like the others,” Landon said after a while.

“No. She’s not.”

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“I know.”

More silence. Landon sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “What are you afraid of, Silas?”

That question landed heavy.

Silas thought of the fire, of Ava sprinting into water to save a pup not even her species. Of her stormy eyes when he kissed her, and the way she didn’t run but didn’t stay either.

“I failed Roman,” he said.

“You left Roman,” Landon corrected. “You turned on him.”

“Too late.”

“Too late would’ve been letting him win.”

Silas shook his head. “I watched good people die because I waited too long. I followed his orders. I bled for him.”

“You bled for what you thought was right. Then you realized it wasn’t.”

Silas looked down, fists clenched.

“She doesn’t know what she’s walking into,” he said quietly. “What I’ve done. Who I’ve been.”

Landon raised an eyebrow. “She fought beside you today. That tells me more than your damn history does.”

There was something about the way he said it, like he knew, like he’d been waiting.

Silas swallowed. “I think she might be?—”

“Yours?” Landon cut in, voice dry.

Silas didn’t speak.

“You’re late to your own damn revelation,” Landon muttered. “I’ve known since the second you walked in with her. You reek of it.”

“She’s human.”

Landon shrugged. “Sonya was once just ‘pack-born’, and I was thought to be the plain human. You think fate gives a shit about bloodlines?”

“I’m not good for her.”

“She’s not porcelain, Silas.”

“I kissed her.”

“Yeah. And then what?”

“I pulled away.”

Landon laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you did. You’re a stubborn ass.”

Silas dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t want to wreck this.”

“You will. That’s what love is. Messy. Risky. But she’s already choosing you. That kid? That mission? She stayed.”

“She shouldn’t have to clean up my sins.”

“Maybe she’s cleaning up her own.” Landon stepped closer, voice lowering. “You love her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

Silas looked up, raw and stripped bare.

Landon nodded once. “Go. Find her. But stop treating her like she’s a grenade waiting to go off. She already went off. She’s still here.”

Silas turned and left without another word.

The corridor outside hummed low with activity. Voices echoed, a blur of names, coordinates, healer rotations. He tuned them out. Focused on the path.

She wasn’t in the infirmary. Or the war room. He checked the courtyard. Empty. His pulse picked up, tension rising. If she’d left…

But then he saw the flicker of light by the old greenhouse, its windows cracked and streaked with rain.

He approached slowly. Ava sat on a bench beneath the half-shattered glass, light dappling her jacket and casting shadows across her cheek. She looked like a storm waiting to break—worn around the edges, defiant to the core.

She didn’t look up.

Silas didn’t know what to say. Words never came easy for him, not the kind that mattered. So he stepped closer, hands at his sides like a man approaching a fight he couldn’t win.

“I wasn’t ready,” he said, the words scraped raw from his throat.

“And I was?” Her eyes snapped up to his, sharp and hurting. “You don’t get to throw a kiss at me like a grenade, then act like I’m the one who lit the fuse.”

“I know.”

He did. He knew what it meant to touch something real and flinch away. He was born with violence carved into his spine, trained to obey, to kill, to never feel too much. She cracked that silence with every look, every damn word that told him she saw past the armor.

Her head finally turned. Her eyes were tired. Wary. There was too much history between them, too many unspoken things trailing in their wake like ghosts.

“You think I’m still deciding,” she said.

“You’re not?”

A beat passed.

“I’ve been deciding since Shadowfall.”

He exhaled slowly. He remembered the way she’d walked beside him through ash and blood like she didn’t care if the world thought she didn’t belong. She’d stayed, even when he tried to push her out. He didn’t know how to deserve that.

“I don’t want to be a weakness,” she said quietly.

“You’re not. You’re the only thing keeping me from breaking.”

It was the truth. His spine may have been steel once, forged in obedience and blood, but she made him want to stand on his own.

She looked away, voice shaking. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“I mean all of it.” The words scraped up from somewhere deep. The place he kept hidden under layers of old shame and survival instinct.

Ava rose. She stood in front of him, barely to his shoulder, but she had more weight in her gaze than any general he’d ever served under. Her eyes burned with defiance and something softer beneath. Something scared.

“You wanna do this?” she asked. “Then do it. Stop dancing around it. Stop protecting me from things I already survived. I’m not asking you to be perfect. Just be here.”

Silas stared at her. Her face was marked with grit and exhaustion, but it was the scar beneath her right eye that made him ache. That single jagged line told the story of every wall she’d ever climbed over to get this far. And still she stood here, demanding not answers, but honesty.

“I don’t know how to be enough for someone like you,” he admitted. Quiet, ashamed.

All he could see were the things he wasn’t: kind, whole, safe. He didn’t know how to show up for someone without a weapon in his hand.

She smiled, small and sharp. “Good thing I never asked for perfect.”

That undid something in him. Something brittle and long held together with silence.

He kissed her again, slower this time. Less fire, more gravity. It wasn’t an apology or a promise. It was surrender.

And there was no pulling away, not this time.