Page 8 of Snarl First, Kiss Later (Alpha’s Prophecy #2)

EIGHT

SILAS

S ilas didn’t blink. The blade in his hand stayed level with the man’s throat, unmoving despite the familiar voice slicing through the tension in the cave like a bad memory.

“Easy,” the guy said, both hands up, the hood of his long coat dripping meltwater onto the floor. “I’m not here to fight.”

Silas squinted through the dim light filtering off the oil lamp. The smell hit him before recognition did—cedar smoke, saddle leather, and some godawful spiced soap the royal guards used to mock. The man tugged back his hood with a cocky grin.

Caz Wilder.

“Damn,” Silas muttered, lowering the knife an inch. “Figured Landon’d send someone with more subtlety.”

Caz chuckled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just been a heartbeat from getting gutted. “Subtle’s a relative term. I tracked your sorry hide through sleet and shadow. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you first.”

Behind Silas, Ava shifted on the cot, still pale from blood loss but awake, and alert. Her good arm flexed, eyes narrowed.

“Friend of yours?” she asked, voice rough.

Silas kept his gaze on Caz. “Define friend.”

“Asshole,” Caz answered with a grin. “Royal emissary. Occasional chaos wrangler. And yes, before you ask, I’m officially dragging you back.”

“That right?” Silas muttered.

Tamsin entered just then from the rear corridor. “Told you I sent word,” he muttered to Silas, handing a damp cloth to Ava. “Wasn’t about to patch up a ghost without someone knowing. The boy’s got a faster horse than most, and half a brain, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

Caz offered Tamsin a respectful nod. “Appreciate the hospitality, healer.”

Tamsin sniffed. “Wasn’t for you.”

Ava’s smirk was barely there, but Silas saw it. She was piecing it together, even through the pain. Smart. Distrustful. Wary of both of them.

She should be.

Caz crossed his arms. “Look, I’m not here to wag fingers. Landon needs answers, and you disappearing after the Sons attacked the convoy? Not a good look, Silas.”

“I was hunting the bastards,” Silas said. “Saving lives.”

Caz glanced toward Ava. “Looks like you picked up a passenger.”

Ava’s tone was ice. “Not a passenger. I saved his ass.”

“Fair enough.” Caz lifted his hands again, placating. “Look, I get it. Borderlands are a mess, The Sons are twisting every neutral camp against the King’s line. And now that they’ve got intel on Roman’s whereabouts among other things? Shit’s boiling over.”

Silas rubbed a hand over his jaw, then looked at Ava. Her braid had come loose, strands of dark hair sticking to her neck. That scar under her eye stood out stark against her pale skin. She didn’t say a word, just watched the two of them like she was weighing every possible exit.

Caz didn’t miss it. “She know what she’s caught in the middle of?”

“Enough,” Silas said.

Caz nodded slowly. “Then you know why you can’t ghost this one. Landon’s got too much riding on it. You’re part of this now whether you like it or not.”

Silas met Ava’s gaze. Something flickered there—curiosity, defiance, something else harder to name.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said, turning toward her. “Tamsin can hide you. You don’t need to come with us.”

Her eyebrows lifted, voice sharp. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t argue,” he said. “This road gets worse from here. You’ve done enough.”

She sat up straighter, wincing as her shoulder pulled. “I get it. You’re used to pushing people away to keep them safe. Doesn’t mean it’s not bullshit.”

He stepped back, jaw tight. “This isn’t a negotiation, Ava. The Silent Sons?—”

“I know who the hell they are,” she snapped. “I know what they did to the convoy. And you think I’m gonna sit here like a scared little tagalong while you two ride off into a suicide mission after you go tell your King what they really want? Kiss my ass.”

Caz whistled low. “She’s got teeth.”

“Shut up,” Silas said.

Tamsin, arms crossed near the doorway, spoke up. “She’s right. If you don’t take her, she’ll follow anyway. Might as well do it where you can watch her back.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not why I’m going.”

“No?” Silas asked.

“I’m going because I made a choice. You said it yourself. If I walk away now, what was any of it for? I’m already marked and need answers too. Those were my people in the convoy.”

He looked away. The weight of her words hit somewhere deep, somewhere sore.

Caz exhaled. “Don’t screw this up, Silas.”

It wasn’t about the mission anymore. Not really. Ava had become the one thing he didn’t see coming—the complication he couldn’t discard. She’d peeled back something he hadn’t realized was still there.

He turned back toward her. “You come at your own risk.”

She didn’t blink. “Always have.”

Outside, the wind howled through the cliffs. Snow had started to fall again, soft and steady. Caz moved toward the doorway, checking his watch.

“We leave before dawn,” he said. “I’ll stable the horses.”

Tamsin waved him off and moved to check Ava’s bandage. “Stubborn as a mule,” he muttered.

“Wonder who she learned that from,” Silas said quietly.

Ava’s eyes met his. “Not you.”

And yet, neither of them looked away.

Silas walked to the door. “Get some sleep,” he said over his shoulder.

“Try not to ditch me again,” she called back.

He paused, glanced at her. “Wouldn’t dare.”

Then he stepped into the cold, the wind slicing against his neck. He’d once believed exile would keep people safe from him. That the best he could offer was silence and solitude. But Ava wasn’t giving him either. And deep down, part of him didn’t want to run anymore.

Not if she was still walking beside him.

Tomorrow, the road would demand more from them both.

Caz came up to him then, now just the two of them and asked in a hushed rough voice, “What did she mean when she said ‘what they really want’?”

Silas looked up at his gruff weathered old acquaintance and sighed. “I found something out while I’ve been away. The real reason I was tracking Roman’s groupies. They want Landon’s heir… dead.”