The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 14 - The slow burn.

Rowan

I had spent years mastering restraint. Restraint in meetings. Restraint in negotiation. Restraint in marriage. It had become instinct. But the moment Marybeth placed her hand against my chest the night before and did not push me away …

Something in that discipline fractured. I did not sleep. Seraphina did not come to the guest room door. We did not speak. The house felt like a structure already abandoned. By morning, rumours were circulating through Blackridge channels.

The cancelled hearing had not gone unnoticed. Neither had my presence on Calloway property. Elders requested clarification. I provided it.

“Procedural overreach corrected,” I said evenly. No apology. No explanation beyond necessity. But I felt it … eyes studying me more closely than before. Not questioning authority. Questioning alignment.

After the meeting dispersed, I found Seraphina in the formal sitting room. She had dressed precisely as she did for public appearances: tailored, composed, controlled. A performance.

“You walked onto Calloway land,” she said without looking up from the tablet in her hands.

“Yes.” I poured myself a drink.

“Without escort.” I felt her look up.

“Yes.” I emptied the glass and poured another.

“And you stood alone with her.” She glared at me.

“Yes.” I held her gaze.

“You’re not even pretending anymore.” She set the tablet down carefully.

“I never pretended,” I said.

“You did. For years.” Her laugh was soft. Bitter. Silence stretched between us.

“I cancelled the review,” I said.

“I know.” It was her turn to give short replies.

“Because it was unjust.” I added.

“It was strategic,” she corrected.

“It was cruel.” I almost growled.

“To whom?” Her eyes sharpened.

“To a child.” I studied her.

“To a rival Alpha’s leverage.” She tried to hide her feelings, but now that I could really see her for who she was, she could no longer hide them from me.

“He is my son.” My jaw tightened.

“And she is your weakness,” Seraphina replied. There it was again. Weakness.

“You mistake control for loyalty,” I sighed.

“And you mistake desire for destiny,” she shot back. The words hung heavy. “You love her,” she said finally. Not accusation. Conclusion. I did not answer immediately. That was answer enough. Our bond was never one formed by love.

“You never touched me the way you touched her.” Seraphina inhaled sharply, as if bracing against impact. The statement landed low.

“That’s not relevant.” I shrugged.

“It’s everything.” She hissed. She stood slowly. “For seven years, I stood beside you. I endured whispers. I endured doctors. I endured the knowledge that I could not give you an heir.”

“I never blamed you.” I kept a close eye on her. Every move. Every facial expression.

“You didn’t have to,” she replied quietly. “You just stopped looking at me like I mattered.” That struck deeper than I expected. Because there had been a shift. Subtle. Gradual. Not cruelty. Absence.

“I respected you,” I said.

“I didn’t want respect,” she whispered. “I wanted to be wanted.” The room went still. I had never lied to her. But I had never loved her either.

“I will not allow you to destabilize him again,” I said firmly. Her composure returned like armour snapping back into place.

“Then prepare for consequences,” she replied. And I understood then that whatever we had built was already burning. I saw Marybeth that evening at the edge of town near the old rail bridge. Neutral ground. Technically.

She was alone. She had always stood straighter when she thought she was being watched.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said without turning.

“Neither should you.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets to try and avoid touching her. She faced me slowly. The air between us was sharper now. More dangerous.

“You confronted her.” Marybeth sighed. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“And?” She frowned.

“And she believes you’re the reason.” I shrugged. A flicker crossed her face … anger, not fear.

“She already believed that,” she said. We stood there for several long seconds. I stepped closer. Not out of dominance. Out of inevitability.

“You were right,” I said quietly. “I didn’t want to see it.”

“What changed?” Her throat moved when she swallowed.

“I did.” The honesty landed between us like a live wire. She studied me carefully, searching for calculation.

“I’m not your salvation,” she said softly.

“I never asked you to be.” I stuffed my hands even deeper into my pockets.

“You want to undo the past.” She sighed and looked away for a moment. She was more beautiful than ever before in the light of the full moon.

“I want to stop pretending it didn’t matter.” The wind shifted, carrying her scent toward me. Familiar. Infuriating. Anchoring.

“You told me to forget,” she said.

“I was afraid.” I felt a shiver run down the back of my spine when she looked at me again.

“Of what?” Her voice waivered only for a moment.

“Of choosing you.” The admission felt like ripping open something long scarred. She went very still.

“You chose your bond instead,” she said.

“Yes.” This was probably the most honest I’ve ever been in my life.

“And now?” She kept her voice steady.

“Now I know I chose wrong,” I admitted. Her breath hitched. For a second, something unguarded moved through her expression. Then discipline returned.

“You don’t get to rewrite history because you’re dissatisfied,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“This isn’t dissatisfaction.” I shook my head.

“Then what is it?” She studied me for a moment before I answered.

“Truth.” I stepped closer again, close enough that space became a suggestion. She didn’t move. Her eyes dropped briefly to my mouth. Then back up. The tension wasn’t memory anymore. It was present.

“You think dissolving your bond makes this simple?” she asked.

“No.” My voice was hoarse with emotion.

“It makes it worse.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I know.” I knew our future wasn’t going to be easy, but I didn’t want to give it up. Silence. My hand lifted without conscious thought. Hovered. Then rested at her waist. Firm this time. Not questioning.

Claiming nothing. Asking everything. She inhaled sharply. Her fingers curled against my coat, not pushing away.

“Rowan,” she warned.

“Yes.” My voice was filled with amusement suddenly.

“If you touch me like this again …” Her tone thickened with warning.

“What?” I asked, voice low. Her pulse jumped beneath my thumb.

“I won’t stop you,” she finished. The confession struck harder than anything else. Control frayed. Not recklessly. But visibly. I slid my hand higher along her side, slow enough to give her time to refuse.

She didn’t. Her breath warmed my throat as she stepped closer instead. The bridge creaked faintly beneath us. The world narrowed to heat and restraint.

“I should walk away,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I agreed. Neither of us did. I brushed my knuckles along her jaw, memorizing the angle of her face the way I had once memorized it under firelight.

“You still feel it,” I said.

“Yes.” No denial. No pride. Just truth. Her hand flattened against my chest again. This time not to measure distance. To close it. My forehead lowered to hers. Breath shared. Pulse matching. Seven years of control balanced on a knife’s edge.

“If I kiss you,” I murmured, “there’s no returning to before.”

“There is no before,” she replied. The words nearly broke me. And then … Headlights flashed across the bridge. We stepped apart instantly. Reality crashed back in. She looked at me differently now.

Not adversary. Not memory. Possibility.

“This isn’t over,” she said, as if trying to confirm I wouldn’t run. I didn’t want her to think it, but our history was still there. My actions were still there. The reason she took my son and ran …

“No,” I replied. It wasn’t over. Because somewhere behind us, Seraphina was unravelling. And somewhere ahead of us, something bigger than rivalry was beginning to move. But in that moment … The only thing that mattered … Was that I had finally stopped pretending I did not want her.