Page 30 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)
THIRTY
SILAS
T he rain hadn’t let up since morning.
Silas paced Ava’s quarters like a storm had taken up residence inside his ribcage.
Her scent lingered of pine soap, gunpowder, and something sharp like pepper, but it was fading fast. Drawers half-open.
Bed unmade. The mug she liked chipped on the rim and still sitting by the window, cold tea steeped too long. No note. No trace.
She was gone.
And not in the way she took her late walks or stalked off after an argument. This was deliberate.
The gut-punch hit square. He should’ve known.
He should’ve called her back and made her listen, made her hear what he couldn’t say earlier.
That she wasn’t a burden. That he didn’t give a damn about fate or mates or prophecy when all he wanted was her, safe and alive and not walking out of his life like he was something she needed to get away from.
Landon’s voice echoed in his memory, sharp as broken glass. You sure you’re ready to protect what’s yours? He hadn’t been. Not really. He’d hesitated too long.
Now she was gone.
Silas kicked the edge of the desk hard enough to split the wood. The sound cracked through the room, but it didn’t quiet anything in his head.
She hadn’t taken much. Her blade, her field pack, the old compass she wore tucked into her belt sometimes. The one with the scratched glass face and initials etched into the underside—D.M.
Her father.
That was the thread. He grabbed it like a lifeline.
He left the court before dawn, boots wet with mud, wolf just under the surface and snarling to get out. He couldn’t shift, not now—not when he needed answers that lived in towns and whispers, not woods.
Shadowfall.
It took about a day’s ride on a borrowed bike to get there.
He didn’t care about how rough the roads were, he had to get there.
The outskirts of the town looked like it had grown out of stubborn rock and grief.
The humans who stayed there after the Veil fell clung to their suspicions like religion.
Weather-beaten homes, boarded windows, churches turned bunkers.
Shifters were the boogeymen out here. Ava had survived in this place, shaped by its fear.
And somehow, she still saved them.
He found her old house on the north edge through scent, past the weather station and near the ridge where the old transmission tower leaned.
Wood siding warped with years. Front porch half-collapsed.
He could picture her in that doorway as a kid, watching storms roll in, probably arms crossed like she was bracing for something worse.
Mrs. Talley, the shopkeeper who still ran the dry goods store, recognized him when he came in with Ava’s photo from when he had gone through with Roman’s pack for supplies and intel.
“Don’t much see her anymore,” the older woman said, eyes narrowed. “Left after her mama died. Used to bring in herbs for me. Medic stuff.”
“Her father,” Silas asked. “Daniel. What do you remember?”
Mrs. Talley sniffed. “He was quiet. Good with maps. Fished the west lake. Folks didn’t like how he talked about peace when things turned ugly. Swore he wasn’t one of them , but people knew. Shadowfall don’t forget.”
“He protected shifters,” Silas said.
The woman looked up sharply. “Don’t say that too loud. But yeah. He did. There was this boy, Caleb—bitten after the Veil. People came to run him out. Joseph stood between them. Said no kid deserved exile just for surviving.”
Silas swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”
“No one knows. Disappeared after the riots. Ava never got the truth. Just the story they fed her—that he died a traitor.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
She raised her eyebrow at him. “I believe that as much as I believe anything PEACE tells us.”
Silas left with more questions than answers.
Ava’s town had taught her to be afraid. Her father had taught her to fight that fear. And now she was chasing ghosts alone.
That night, Silas camped on the ridge. He stared into the flames, thinking about Ava’s blade that she had used to save his life. Her father’s weapon. The one that should’ve never ended up in her hands if PEACE had truly marked him a traitor.
He understood now.
Ava had left to find out who her father really was.
And maybe what that made her.
He leaned back against the rock behind him, smoke curling around his boots, and exhaled slow. Somewhere out there, she was digging for the same answers he’d buried years ago under blood and regret.
He’d find her. He had to.
Not because he was her mate.
But because he finally understood what it meant to love someone enough not to let them bear the truth alone. And too many people knew about her connection. Too many that wanted her dead and he couldn’t lose her.
Not now.
Not ever.