Page 40 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)
FORTY
SILAS
T he grass in the outer courtyard had grown taller than it should’ve. Green and stubborn, reaching up around Ava’s boots as she moved, still barefoot in the garden despite his grumbling about rocks and thorns. She always said she felt better with the earth beneath her feet.
Silas stood with one arm slung over the wooden fence that circled the children’s play area. His other hand rested on his daughter’s small head where she leaned into his leg, gurgling nonsense syllables and grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.
Nine months old and already headstrong. She’d gotten that from Ava, no question.
Landon’s son barreled past, eighteen months old now, covered in dirt and laughing as he tumbled after a wooden ball. Sonya, seated under a tree nearby, rested her hands over her still-healing ribs and shook her head fondly.
“Too fast,” she said, eyes tracking her boy like a hawk.
“Too loud,” Ava muttered beside Silas, but her smile betrayed her.
He’d never seen her like this. Not in Shadowfall. Not even at court. This version of her—sun-warmed skin, hair in a loose braid, storm-green eyes soft—was peace made flesh.
She caught him staring and quirked a brow. “What?”
He shrugged, brushing his fingers down her arm. “Nothing. Just thinking I still don’t know how the hell I ended up lucky.”
She leaned in, kissed his jaw. “You stopped running. That helped.”
Silas grinned. “You chased me. Don’t forget that.”
She elbowed him gently and turned back to the children. Her voice went quiet. “You ever think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come back?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “Yeah, I thought about it. Every damn day. You leaving... it gutted me. But it got us here. So I guess I’d still do it all again.”
Ava didn’t speak for a moment, just slid her hand into his and watched the kids—his daughter now clambering onto her big playmate’s back, giggling.
Then he felt it.
Subtle. Too faint for most, but his senses were sharp from years of hunting. It hit like a breeze wrapped in memory—cedarwood and burnt ozone, a scent buried so deep in his past it felt like waking up to a ghost.
He went still.
Ava noticed. “Silas?”
His eyes scanned the edge of the tree line, heart thudding low and cold. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. A shadow had shifted beyond the far wall. Could’ve been nothing.
Or someone.
“I thought I—” He paused, shook his head. “Never mind.”
“No.” She touched his arm. “What?”
He hesitated. “Your father. That scent… it’s his.”
Ava blinked. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve only smelled it once. Years ago. But yeah. I’m sure.”
She looked toward the trees, quiet.
“Do you think he’d come back?” she asked.
Silas considered that. “If he knew it was safe. If he knew you had a family. Maybe.”
Ava nodded slowly, lips pressed together.
They stayed like that, fingers entwined as the breeze picked up, rustling through the trees. The scent was gone now. No tracks. No sound. Nothing left but the sense of something unfinished.
Behind them, Sonya called to her son. Laughter erupted again. Peace held. Fragile, but real.
“Maybe next time,” Ava whispered, not looking away from the trees.
Silas watched her, pride swelling in his chest. “You’re still looking for him.”
“I just want him to know,” she said. “That I made it. That I’m okay.”
Silas pressed a kiss to her temple. “He knows.”
Their daughter squealed and fell onto her rear in the grass, laughing at nothing at all. Ava went to scoop her up, tossing the baby onto her hip and spinning in a slow circle that had her laughing too.
He watched them—his family, his home—and knew the fight was worth it.
They weren’t perfect. There were still shadows out there, still questions and dangers and the lingering stench of old wars. But peace lived in these moments. And as long as he had Ava, as long as they fought for the world they were building for their kids, he’d keep going.
Silas turned back to the woods once more.
If Daniel Monroe was still alive, he’d come back in his own time.
Until then, they would protect what they’d built. Together.
Always.