Page 31 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

THIRTY-ONE

AVA

A va hadn’t meant to be found. Not by anyone.

She’d been on the move for three days, traveling through thick woods with little food, sleep, or direction. Just instincts and a rising sense of dread. Her body ached, her mind wouldn’t settle, and her thoughts kept tripping over the same questions that no one had answers to—especially not her.

She hadn’t heard Sonya coming. She hadn’t smelled her or felt the telltale shift in the air. Which, if she was honest, scared her a little more than she wanted to admit.

Wolves were good at stealth. But Sonya, pregnant and all, had tracked her through trees and shadows like Ava was a goddamn breadcrumb trail.

Ava had just finished drinking from a small stream behind the ridge when the voice came.

“You’re not exactly great at covering your trail,” Sonya had said from the treeline, her tone mild but unmistakably smug.

Ava had spun so fast she nearly fell over, slipping in the wet grass.

“How the hell?—”

Sonya stepped out from the brush, boots silent, her blond hair pulled back, that swollen belly visible under her leather jacket like it didn’t weigh her down at all. Her blue eyes glinted.

“You really thought a medic’s field boots wouldn’t leave a pattern? I found your prints two miles back. Thought you were trying to lead me in circles. I considered being offended.”

Ava had blinked, caught between exasperation and something close to admiration. “You tracked me? You’re nine months pregnant.”

“Exactly. If you think that means I’m out of the game, you really don’t know how we’re built.” Sonya stepped closer, hand resting low against her stomach. “I’ve fought through worse. And you’re not the only one who needed air.”

She handed Ava a canteen and a tired smile. No questions. No judgment.

Just, “You’ll be safe for now.”

And that was it. Sonya didn’t push. She just turned and led her to the cabin.

Ava hadn’t asked why.

She needed somewhere to breathe. Somewhere quiet to sit with the echo of what Silas had told her. Somewhere to forget for a little while how far she’d run and how hard the truth had cracked open the foundation of her life.

Sonya, of all people, understood.

Because silence wasn’t the absence of pain.

It was just the space you gave it to settle.

The cabin sat in the middle of a clearing that seemed half-swallowed by the forest, its wooden frame aged but strong.

Ivy climbed the corners like it was trying to keep the place hidden, safe—like the woods themselves had tried to shield it from time.

The roof sloped low, rain-scuffed and mossy, and the windows held the kind of dust that said no one had lived here in a long while, but someone had always meant to come back.

She unpacked what little she’d taken—her father’s blade, still tucked into the leather sheath that always felt too heavy for its size, the edges of her journal worn from thumbed corners and half-scribbled truths, a few packs of dried food, a dented tin of tea, and her old compass that always tilted half a degree west for no damn reason.

She lined them neatly on the small shelf near the hearth, more for something to do than necessity, and let herself breathe.

The silence was different out here. Not the sharp-edged kind from the court, filled with judgments and withheld opinions.

This was the heavy, blanketing kind—no power lines humming, no chatter bleeding through stone walls.

Just wind rattling against the shutters and the crackle of wood catching fire in the stove.

She had maybe five minutes to herself.

By dusk, Sonya had paced the length of the cabin three full times, arms wrapped protectively beneath her belly, jaw clenched as she inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to keep it together.

Ava had clocked the tension hours ago—how Sonya had gone quiet, too quiet, and kept flexing her fingers like she was trying to distract herself from her own body.

“You good?” Ava had asked once, when Sonya winced mid-step.

“False alarm,” she muttered. “Kid’s just as stubborn as his father.”

But now, the soft dusk shadows had swallowed the room in copper light, and the bravado slipped.

“Shit,” Sonya hissed between her teeth, one hand braced on the edge of the old wooden counter, the other gripping the table like it might float away. Her breaths had turned ragged, all shallow inhales and clipped exhales.

Ava’s head snapped up from where she’d been curled near the fire, blanket slipping off her shoulders. “Starting, starting?”

Sonya didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached down and cradled her lower belly, expression twisted somewhere between disbelief and pain.

“Water broke fifteen minutes ago,” she muttered, teeth gritted. “Didn’t want to interrupt your nap.”

Ava stared at her. “You were gonna let me sleep through you going into labor?”

“You looked like you needed it.”

Ava tossed the blanket away and moved fast. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No argument here.”

But the humor was thin now. Strained. The kind used to brace for impact.

The air shifted into something thicker, heavier, like something unseen had crept into the room and taken up space beside them.

Ava’s heart picked up, not from panic, but adrenaline-fueled clarity.

She wasn’t a midwife. She’d done wilderness medicine, field patch jobs, bullet removal, stitching torn flesh.

She knew how to hold pressure on a gaping wound, not help push life into the world.

Still, Sonya had brought her here. Trusted her. That meant something.

Ava grabbed towels and boiled what little water the rusted kettle could hold.

She tore through cabinets until she found gloves, yellowed and shoved behind some old candles.

The med kit was laughable, half-empty, outdated, but there were some bandages and antiseptic wipes. They’d make do. They had to.

Sonya lowered herself down to the floor near the couch, back resting against it, eyes squeezed shut through another contraction that wrung sweat across her brow.

“I need you to breathe through it,” Ava said, crouching beside her, hands already moving to check her pulse, her vitals.

“Don’t patronize me, Monroe.”

“Then breathe for my sanity.”

That earned her a grunt of a laugh before Sonya groaned and bore down again, face tightening as the next contraction rolled through. Ava gripped her hand and felt Sonya’s nails dig in hard enough to leave a mark, but she didn’t flinch.

The contractions kept coming. Closer together. Relentless.

Time blurred. There were no clocks in the cabin, only the sound of fire snapping and Sonya’s breathing turning more guttural, raw. Hours passed. Maybe more. Ava lost track.

She fed wood into the fire, rubbed Sonya’s lower back when she whimpered between waves, cleaned up when Sonya threw up once and tried to apologize for it.

“Don’t,” Ava said, wiping her mouth and forehead with a damp cloth. “You’re doing good.”

“I feel like I’m being split in two,” Sonya groaned.

“That means he’s almost here.”

“Bullshit. He’s been almost here for a damn hour.”

Ava knelt beside her again, wiped sweat from her temple, fingers steady even though her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults.

“You ever done this?” Sonya rasped.

“Nope.”

“Goddamn.”

“But I’m not going anywhere,” Ava said softly.

Sonya reached out, hand grabbing Ava’s forearm. “He has to live. You get that? Whatever happens, this kid has to live.”

Ava swallowed hard, nodding. “He will. I promise.”

It came in waves then. Deep, consuming. Sonya screamed once, a sound that felt like it shook the walls.

Ava coached her through it, not because she knew how but because silence wasn’t an option.

She held Sonya upright, whispered affirmations when the pain hit, counted out seconds, braced her legs to keep Sonya balanced.

When the baby crowned, Ava felt her pulse spike, mouth going dry. But she didn’t hesitate. She reached down, focused through the blur of panic, and helped guide the tiny, slippery body into the world.

The baby’s cries broke through the hush of the cabin, and Ava swore the whole world shifted.

A boy. Warm and red-faced, wailing like his lungs knew what this world meant. Alive.

Sonya wept, not broken, not soft. It was relief. Defiance. Victory.

Ava wrapped the pup in one of the soft blankets they’d found, placed him in Sonya’s arms, and exhaled. It was the first time since she’d left court that her heart felt like it might steady itself again.

“He’s beautiful,” Ava whispered.

Sonya nodded, brushing sweat-damp hair from her temple. “He’s the future.”

Ava looked down at the child. This… this was it. This was what Roman wanted to destroy. What Gideon’s Torch feared. This child, this boy wrapped in warmth and breath, was the thing that made all the war feel personal.

“I get it now,” Ava said quietly. “Why you fought so hard. Why you stayed.”

Sonya looked at her with something like pride. “It’s never been about who’s born with power. It’s about who chooses to use it right.”

Ava didn’t answer. She sat beside them, watching the fire crackle, and let her heart shift.

She’d walked away from Silas thinking she was a burden. Thinking she had to chase ghosts and fill in missing names. But sitting here, helping a queen deliver a son born of prophecy and risk… she saw it.

She wasn’t running from something anymore.

She was fighting for something. For someone.

For all of them.

And Silas… she’d find her way back to him. Eventually.

But tonight, this child—the future alpha of united bloodlines—rested in her arms. And Ava made a vow without speaking a word.

She would protect him.

Even if it meant breaking everything else. Because now she knew exactly what they were up against and she was no longer just a human outsider.

She was part of the war. Part of the pack.

And she was done running.