Page 20 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

TWENTY

SILAS

S ilas tested the door to the council chamber, the hinges worn but solid and glanced at Sonya and Landon just inside.

Two days of planning had led here. With the Red Pack in attendance before they headed out, trust still hung on a razor.

He dipped his gaze to Ava, whose eyes met his with a spark that both steadied him and unnerved him.

They’d come together into this space: a reclaimed storage vault with high ceilings, wood beams blackened by old fire.

A single lantern bathed the metal table in pale, uneasy light.

The murmurs hushed as his hand brushed Ava’s back as he passed: unsaid reassurance, the promise that he wouldn’t throw her away. He felt her pulse under his fingertips.

At Landon’s nod, the meeting began. Silas sank onto his chair just enough to be attentive but ready to spring.

Reports were rattled out: reports on rogue sightings, patrol disruptions, refugee movements.

Sonya rattled off intel and cracked a joke about her belly rocking like a war drum, and even Lirien cracked a ghost of a smile.

But beneath the waterline, Silas felt the current shifting, something rumbling that didn’t belong to diplomacy.

An explosion rocked a back wall suddenly, a makeshift bomb tossed through a breach.

Rubble rained, wood cracked. A stray bullet kicked a splinter off the floor.

Ava yanked him down. She protected him again, reflexively, but Silas noticed the way she stood: her weight shifted, ready. Impromptu sentry.

When the dust settled and the attackers were routed, half installed, half fleeing, Landon stood in the ruins, iron in his eyes. Silas slumped into Ava’s space, leaning on her. Pain throbbed so hard he almost blacked out—but her proximity grounded him.

He saw Sonya rushing over, face pale. “Silas! Damn it, are you hurt bad?”

Before answering, Silas saw it before he heard it. A shadow at the back, a figure shifting, steel glinting. Time slowed. He sprang up, but the blade came first.

A flash of pain cut across his ribs as the blade slashed unexpectedly and brutally. The world narrowed to white-hot fire spreading down his side. Ava froze for a heartbeat, eyes growing wide but then she lunged.

Half-blinded by agony, Silas pivoted just as Ava dove in front of him, throwing something: a slender iron blade, curved, unfamiliar, but it found the attacker's wrist. The man staggered back, gibbering as blood frothed. His weapon clattered to the wood floor.

Silas blinked, and recognition stabbed him. That knife, a relic she’d pulled from her jacket earlier that day, half-lost in a pouch of herbal vials. She’d never said why she kept it, just that it…felt steady in her hand. He’d shrugged it off as superstition. Now, that blade saved his life.

Silas staggered but caught himself on the table’s edge. Shaking, he nodded at Ava, voice thick. “Hell of a throw.”

She held the knife, face tight with tension. “You okay?”

He drew in a shaky breath, grimaced. “Could be worse.” He leaned near enough to kiss the side of her head. Weak blessing.

Slashes of movement as guards tackled the second attacker. Ava crouched beside Silas, her jacket soaked dark. He wanted to curse at her, hug her.

But not yet. He steadied himself. Pain roared behind every breath, but adrenaline burned it down.

Outside, chaos erupted as more Silent Sons burst through side doors. Lirien roared orders. Metal chairs skidded as they barricaded doorways. Silas grabbed his rifle, fanned the safety off with a snap and took cover behind the smashed table that bore the brunt of his wound.

He saw Ava beside him, tossing packs aside. “First aid!” she barked, hands beckoning. She tore a strip of cloth from her shirt, pressed against his side. Burning, acid-hot pain, but the bleeding slowed.

Gunfire rattled in the hallway. Silas wedged himself higher, pulling Ava close. “You good?”

Her jaw set. “I’ll live.” She wiped a sleeve across pale skin. “You?”

He didn’t answer. He lifted his rifle, fired rounds in perfect silence, picking off attackers slipping in.

The Red Pack and court guards pushed forward too.

Slowly, the chamber filled with growling resistance.

Silas held his breath but Ava’s presence steadied him: warmth, proximity, the unspoken promise that he wasn’t alone.

He flexed through the knife wound, liquid fire buried deep. “I’ll survive.” He sounded convincing.

Sonya knelt, hands glowing with soft dusk-light as healing magic coursed through his wounds, sealing slashed skin, staunching blood. He watched Sonya, Ava backing away so Sonya could work. In that moment, jealousy throbbed in his chest. Not of Sonya, but of Ava's hands not touching him.

This was choices made. Lives at stake. Hearts still bleeding.

When Sonya finished, Silas rose slowly, shaking off Sonya’s lingering hand. He looked at Ava, her wild braid, loose and fierce, her green eyes full of unvoiced care. He realized just how close he came to losing more than breath.

Guards restarted sweeps. Landon moved in, clapping Silas by the shoulder. “You good?”

Silas nodded, trying to stand vertical. “No retreat.”

Landon’s eyes slid to Ava. Threat edged into respect. He didn’t say more, trusting the room to speak volumes. The Red Pack, wounded and wary, packed their things, their gazes on Ava softening only slightly.

Landon then went immediately to Sonya,cradling her belly and asking if she was hurt. Landon had always put her first, and Silas now admired that about the alpha, instead of seeing it as a weakness.

Silas stayed close to Ava as the chamber emptied. The medallion glinted beneath her jacket. His ribs burned with every breath; he matched her pace. She limped a little, but kept pace. He grabbed her arm.

She jerked away. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t push. Instead, he paused in the doorway to look back at Landon, Sonya, Lirien. He straightened. They might have doubts, but they’d seen her fight.

Outside, rain started. Bare trees shimmered wet above them. The lord of war and woman with a hidden blade held together because something had come unspoken and needed saying.

Silas pulled her into an alley of ruined stone. “You risked your neck for me again.”

Ava stared out at sky, rain dripping onto her braid. “We're past any 'maybe' now, Silas.”

He shook his head. “I nearly died.”

She ticked his wound. “You’re breathing.”

He exhaled, but did not relax. “Why do you care?”

She turned, rain dripping down cheek and scar. “Because someone had to. And I’d cut damn near any son of a bitch who tried that on you.”

Silas swallowed. “You don’t get shit without risk.”

She smiled wryly. “Least I’ve got you by a damn blade.”

He laughed, pain cutting with worry, but humming through him was something different: relief, closeness, the knowledge that the war outside was as nothing compared to the gamble in their hearts.

He reached for her, tangled fingers warm. But the rain fell colder. He knew the next move would be theirs to make. But something still bugged him.

“Ava, Silas! Come help us get these wolves to the medic tent so the Red Pack can do a head count,” Caz called over as he pushed through some of the debris.

Ava detached and went without hesitation, Silas following. He was going to have to ask her about that blade later because something he couldn’t let go seemed all too familiar about it.