Page 21 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

TWENTY-ONE

AVA

T he fire snapped low in the hearth as Ava sat with her knees pulled up, damp curls sticking to her cheek from the rain. Her jacket steamed lightly in the warm air, boots discarded by the door. The council chamber had long cleared, the Red Pack departed, but her pulse still hadn’t settled.

She kept replaying the flick of her wrist, the way the blade had sung through the air, perfect and deadly.

Her hand still felt the grip of it, the smooth hilt cool and sure, like it had waited all this time to be used.

She had never once touched it, but seeing Silas in danger made her reach into the hidden pocket where it always laid, not her usual knife, but the old odd blade and she threw it as if it knew her name.

Across the room, Silas leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, the shadows stretching long around him.

He hadn’t said much since they left the courtyard, except to check her wound and offer water she didn’t take.

The silence between them wasn’t cold, just…

loaded. Like the next words mattered more than usual.

He shifted, the fabric of his shirt dragging over the fresh scab on his side. “Ava,” he said quietly.

She turned her head toward him, but didn’t move.

“That blade you used,” he started again, tone cautious, like he didn’t want to spook her. “The one that dropped the bastard who came at me—where’d you get it?”

Ava blinked, thrown by the question. “The knife?”

Silas nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah. That curved edge, double spine. It’s old. Not just old, it’s crafted. You don’t just find blades like that. Especially not humans.”

She frowned, brushing her hands against her pants to ground herself.

“It was my dad’s. At least, I think so. It was in a box I found under the floorboards after he disappeared.

I used to dig through it when I couldn’t sleep.

I don’t know why I took it with me. Just… always felt like it should stay close.”

His gaze didn’t shift. “You said your dad disappeared during a rogue attack.”

“Yeah.” Her voice hitched around the word. “Shadowfall doesn’t talk about it much. He was a courier. Sometimes he did runs for PEACE. One day, he didn’t come home. Council said it was a rogue ambush. But they never recovered a body.”

“What was his name again?”

“Daniel.”

Silas exhaled hard through his nose, his jaw flexing. He stepped closer, crouching in front of her. She met his eyes, confusion biting at her chest.

“What?” she asked.

“I knew him.”

Ava stared. “What?”

“Your father.” Silas’ voice was rough now, more regret than gravel. “His name was Daniel Monroe. He wasn’t just a courier. He was embedded.”

She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“Embedded in Roman’s network. PEACE used him to run messages, smuggle intel out from under Roman’s nose. He was good. Too good. Smart, silent. Brave as hell.”

Ava’s breath went shallow. The fire cracked again.

Silas ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t know him well. But I knew his face. I saw him once at a camp outside Marrow’s Bend, apparently he had handed over information that nearly derailed a whole arms deal. Roman had no clue until later. But someone in the pack did.”

“Then he was killed,” she said hollowly.

“No.” Silas shook his head. “That’s the thing. He vanished before the information leaked. Word inside the ranks said he was compromised, but no proof. I thought he escaped. Fled. Hell, for a while, I figured he might’ve gone to PEACE.”

“Why wouldn’t he come home?”

Silas looked at her then, eyes soft but weighed down. “If he knew the wolves who outed him were anywhere near Shadowfall, he wouldn’t have risked it. Not with a family there.”

Ava’s mouth felt dry. “So… my entire life, I thought rogues killed him. I thought the pack I hated was responsible.”

“I don’t know who tipped Roman off,” Silas said. “But it wasn’t a random attack and I don’t know what really happened to him.”

Her fingers dug into her knees. She looked down, watched the firelight flicker along her scarred palms. The silence felt too wide, the truth too sharp.

That knife, the one she’d clutched since she was twelve, thinking it was just some keepsake, had belonged to a man who risked everything to stop the very war that had swallowed her life.

“You’re sure?” she asked, voice low.

“I’d stake everything on it,” Silas answered. “He wore a ring with an inlaid stone. Red jasper. Left hand, second finger. You ever see it?”

Her eyes stung as she nodded slowly. “It’s still in the box.”

Silas nodded, voice quiet. “Then yeah. He’s yours.”

She stared at the fire. Her heart felt like it had been flipped, like her past had grown new edges she didn’t recognize.

She wasn’t just the daughter of a medic from a scared town.

She was the kid of a man who’d taken on an empire in silence.

A man who’d died—or disappeared—trying to save people she never knew.

And now his knife had saved Silas. Maybe that mattered.

Silas touched her knee gently. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. I didn’t know until I saw the blade, and after the attack, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Ava looked at him. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Silas said, honesty thick in his tone. “But if he is, he’ll know you used that knife to protect someone worth it.”

She looked down again, felt her pulse still roaring under her ribs. “He’d probably be pissed it wasn’t a cleaner throw.”

Silas gave a half-laugh. “He’d probably be proud as hell.”

They sat in the quiet for a minute longer. Then Ava let her hand rest against his. Not clinging, just anchoring. They didn’t need to say more yet. Her world had just shifted. His had, too.

But maybe now, they were learning it was okay to fall together instead of apart.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For telling me. For not lying to make it easier.”

“I’ve got a lot of sins,” Silas muttered. “Lying to you won’t be one of them.”

She nodded, breath slow. “Good. Then sit with me a while longer.”

And he did. Without armor. Without guilt. Just two broken legacies, stitched together by a name neither of them had spoken in years and a knife that never missed.