Page 28 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

TWENTY-EIGHT

SILAS

S ilas stood over the table scattered with maps, half-drunk coffee, and a digital pad blinking with encrypted files.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Just short bursts of unconsciousness between briefings and scouting reports.

His brain buzzed with the kind of fatigue that never reached the bone because it stayed coiled in his gut. Ready. On edge.

The latest intel from the Red Pack was inconclusive. No movement in the south ridge. The border remained quiet. Too quiet.

Which was what bothered him most.

Gideon’s Torch wasn’t a group that laid low unless they were planning something bigger than anyone wanted to admit.

And now, the Silent Sons? They were the stuff of post-Roman nightmares, clinging to prophecy and power like the world owed them more blood.

But both factions acting now, simultaneously?

It didn’t add up.

He exhaled hard and pushed away from the table, jaw locked. “They’re not working together,” he muttered under his breath. “They can’t be.”

“Who can’t be?”

Caz’s voice broke through the haze. Silas didn’t turn.

“Gideon’s crew and the Sons,” Silas said. “They’re too different. One wants shifters wiped. The other wants their tyrant back.”

“Maybe they just want war. Doesn’t matter who burns, long as the fire spreads.”

Silas finally looked up. “Unless they know something we don’t.”

Caz shrugged. “Or someone’s feeding them something. What do you think Landon’s not telling us?”

The question dug deeper than it should’ve.

Silas didn’t answer. He didn’t like thinking Landon, his alpha, might be keeping secrets. But every time he caught Landon’s gaze across the war table, there was something… distant. Measured. Like he was already preparing for fallout.

He was still staring at the screen when the knock came. Sharp. Urgent.

Sonya’s second-in-command leaned in through the door, pale.

“It’s Ava.”

Silas didn’t hear the rest.

He was already out the door.

The courtyard reeked of blood.

Silas hit the ground running, boots skidding across gravel until he found the trail. Dark droplets soaked into dirt, a splatter pattern that knifed straight through his ribs. He followed it with a low growl in his throat, heart hammering loud enough to drown thought.

Ava.

He found her near the southeast training ring, slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to her side. The blade had sliced low—clean but deep—and she was pale. Breathing shallow.

The attacker lay not far off, sprawled in a heap. Dead. Good.

Silas dropped to his knees beside her. “Ava. Look at me.”

She winced, eyes fluttering open. “Hey. You’re late.”

Relief tore through him like lightning, fast and bright and brutal. “Don’t talk. Let me—” He pressed his hand over hers, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood. It hadn’t hit an artery, but it was bad.

“What happened?”

Her mouth twitched. “Your new allies need better vetting.”

Silas looked back at the body, jaw clenched. A Red Pack warrior. Someone Lirien vouched for.

Betrayal.

He helped her sit up, his other hand already working to pull gauze from his belt pack. “You should’ve called for backup.”

“I didn’t get the chance.”

Her voice broke a little. Not from pain, not entirely. From something else. Hurt. Shock.

“I thought he was here to talk,” she added. “He said he had questions. Then he said… ‘humans don’t belong here.’”

Silas felt rage flare sharp and cold. “Son of a?—”

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Don’t go hunting him. He’s not walking anymore.”

His gaze dropped to the blade beside her. Her father’s knife. Bloodied.

She followed his look. “He tried to take it from me. Said it didn’t belong to someone like me.”

Silas touched her jaw gently. “It does. It always did.”

She nodded, but the grief lingered in her eyes.

He hated himself for not being there. For trusting too soon. For letting his guard down just because the Red Pack had finally picked a side.

Loyalty was a word. Action was everything.

He wrapped her wound tight and got her upright, arm around her waist. She leaned on him without argument.

They moved through the courtyard slowly, court guards clearing the path.

Later, when she was patched up and resting in their quarters, he stood in the doorway and watched her breathe. He didn’t know if she was asleep. He didn’t want to break whatever peace she had managed to cling to.

His fists curled. The blade rested on the table beside the bed, cleaned and shining.

He knew that knife. Knew it before he saw the initials burned into the hilt. D.M.

Daniel Monroe. The man who’d saved his life once, back before things broke. A PEACE operative embedded under Roman’s nose. One who disappeared after being found out. The reason Silas had initially started questioning his loyalty to Roman, long before the prophecy of the Alpha King.

That knife should’ve never made it out of the mountains. And yet, here it was. In Ava’s hands. The legacy of a father she never really knew, still saving lives.

He walked over and picked it up, thumb brushing the grip.

Then he sat down next to her and let the weight of it all finally settle.

She stirred, and his hand found hers.

“I’m okay,” she murmured. “Just sore.”

“I know.” He looked at her. Really looked.

“You think they’re working together,” she said.

He blinked. “What?”

“Gideon’s people. The Sons. You’ve been quiet all day.”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure. But this…” He gestured to the bandage. “This doesn’t feel like just betrayal. It feels… timed.”

Her mouth twisted. “We spooked them.”

“Or someone knew exactly who to send to keep us off balance.” He didn’t say the rest. That Landon was still withholding. That too many threads were leading into the dark.

Ava reached out, took the blade from his hands, and stared at it. “He had this when I was little. I remember seeing it on the mantel. I used to pretend it belonged to some hero. I didn’t know he… that he was anything like this.”

Silas didn’t speak. Just rested his hand over hers.

“I need to know the truth,” she said quietly.

“You will.”

They sat there in the silence. No politics.

No battle plans. Just two people and the shadows between them.

He knew he should say more, but right now, it didn’t seem evident.

His admittance didn’t give her more answers about what happened to her father, but it could cause her to decide to mistrust him in a time where he was the only one he knew for sure watching out for her in a den of wolves.

When she finally looked up, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

“No,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever. That ended a while ago. Now, I’m here until you tell me to go.”