Page 26 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

TWENTY-SIX

SILAS

S ilas hadn’t even made it through the court gates before the call came.

Caz flagged him down from the side courtyard, breath thin, expression locked. “It’s confirmed,” he said. “They’re resurfacing.”

Silas didn’t need to ask who.

“Gideon’s Torch?”

Caz gave a sharp nod. “A cache of weapons found outside Saint Anselm. Smuggled tech. Human-grade shit. Clean, coordinated, overfunded.” He paused. “Landon wants you in the war room.”

Silas adjusted the strap across his shoulder and headed for the inner court. His body moved on instinct now. Training. Muscle memory. But his mind raced.

Gideon’s Torch.

They’d spent months operating like shadows. Anti-supernatural propaganda in fringe towns, whispers of cell groups hiding behind militia fronts, a digital footprint scattered across dead-end forums. Most thought they’d collapsed under pressure or fractured into nothing more than survivalist noise.

They hadn’t.

Not if the footage Caz pulled up during the debrief was real.

Silas stood at the edge of the holotable with Landon, Caz, Sonya and a few trusted lieutenants. Red Pack hadn’t been summoned yet. This wasn’t about diplomacy. This was war prep.

The screen showed grainy drone footage of three box trucks pulling into a rural lumber depot, human men unloading long crates like they were carrying coffins. Inside? Modified semi-autos, thermal scopes, tech designed to disrupt pack communication frequencies. Military grade.

“Where’d the footage come from?” Silas asked.

“My contacts in Salt Lake,” Caz answered, tossing a data pad toward the center. “And before you ask, yes. It matches gear used in the last attack near Arcadia.”

Sonya, ever calm despite the life she carried inside her, leaned forward. “And the faction?”

“Split. Not Reign’s direct crew, but one of the newer cells. They’re arming human extremists. Not just for defense—this is strategic. Coordinated.” Caz’s mouth curved bitter. “These aren’t disorganized cowards playing survivalist. They’re prepping for a campaign.”

Silas’s jaw worked tight. “Against us.”

“Against anything with fur, fangs, or a spine that doesn’t fall in line.”

Silas remembered. Butte. The Platinum Street Riot. He’d arrived after the smoke but before the fire cooled. Houses charred to bone. Young wolves piled in body bags. Ash still falling. He hadn’t known then who started it.

He knew now.

Reign had orchestrated it. Branded it as a fluke. Disowned the shooters while fueling their motives. And the world bought it.

Now his followers were arming up again. And this time, they were better trained. Better funded.

Silas’s eyes flicked to Landon. “What’s the move?”

“We send a message,” Landon said, voice steel. “I’m not letting another attack on us, especially since their specialty are surprise attacks.” He gave a knowing look to Sonya who nodded.

“And Ava?” Sonya asked quietly. “She’s spent time on the border. She might know who these cells are recruiting.”

“She’s already involved,” Landon said. “Whether she wants to be or not.”

“She does,” Silas said before he could stop himself. “You don’t get to fight like she does unless you’ve already chosen your side.”

Landon studied him for a beat too long. Then nodded once.

The room cleared slowly. Caz with his data files, Sonya off to prep more intelligence briefings.

Landon lingered.

“You sure she’s ready?” he asked Silas quietly.

“She’s more than ready.”

Landon leaned back. “And what about you?”

Silas didn’t answer right away. Because every time he looked at Ava, he saw more than the girl from Shadowfall with grit under her nails and ghosts in her voice.

He saw the truth she didn’t even realize she carried.

Her bloodline. Her father’s legacy. And the blade that bound them all along with the truth he hadn’t felt like he could say to her.

That he had been one of the parties out looking to silence the threat that her father had imposed on their pack.

“I’m scared,” Silas said. “That it’ll break her. That I’ll lose her because of the world we’re in.”

Landon nodded. “Good. Means you’ll fight harder to make sure you don’t.”

Silas exhaled. “We need to start planning for counter-infiltration.”

“Already on it. You’re heading recon with Wilder tomorrow. Northern flank.”

Silas dipped his head. “Understood.”

Later that night, when the sky was cut clean with stars and frost kissed the windows, Silas found Ava alone in the greenhouse.

She sat on the old bench where they’d kissed. Elbows on her knees, gaze on nothing.

“You heard,” she said without looking.

He stepped in, crouched beside her. “I did.”

She finally met his eyes. “It’s starting again, isn’t it?”

“It never really stopped.”

He reached for her hand. She let him take it.

“They’re targeting humans, Ava. Ones with ties to the court. They’re drawing lines with blood.”

“And me?”

“You’re not a line.”

“But I’m a reason.”

Silas shook his head. “You’re a reason we fight. Not a reason they win.”

He felt her tremble, just a little. Then she nodded. Silent understanding.

They sat in that quiet, with nothing but the hum of old grow lights and the wind tapping glass. When she leaned into him, he let her.

Tomorrow, war would inch closer.

But tonight, they were still whole.