The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 7 - Rowan's Rule

Rowan

The night I acknowledged my son publicly, I felt like I was standing on two fault lines at once. One political. One personal. The Winter Assembly lodge was full before I arrived. Elders were positioned closest to the hearth.

Younger pack members standing in quiet clusters near the walls. Blackridge always filled a room without noise. We were efficient. Controlled. Stable. That word had been attached to my leadership for years. Stable.

I had built that reputation deliberately. No public fractures. No impulsive decisions. No indulgent displays. Tonight, would test that. Seraphina stood beside me, immaculate in deep silver, posture perfect.

She had chosen the color carefully. Neutral. Commanding. Luna without overt claim. She looked every inch the united front the pack expected. If they looked closer, they might have noticed the way her fingers curled slightly against her side.

The way her breathing sat a fraction too high in her chest. Only I would notice that. Only I would know. Marybeth stood across the room with her father. Not in the shadows. Not hidden. She wore dark green, Calloway colours subtle but unmistakable.

She didn’t look nervous. She looked ready. And when our eyes met, the pull was immediate. It had been seven years. Seven years of discipline. Of burying the night that should never have happened. Of telling myself what I felt had been youthful recklessness.

It hadn’t been. And the consequence of that decision stood at her side, unaware of the gravity around him. I stepped forward when the room quieted.

“There is a matter that concerns succession and stability,” I began, voice even. I heard that Marybeth had been declared the new Calloway Alpha in a quiet ceremony. Which kind of placed the spotlight on me and Seraphina and, more importantly, the fact that we didn’t have an heir.

The word succession rippled through the lodge. I didn’t look at Marybeth. If I did, I might hesitate.

“I have recently learned that I have a son.” The silence that followed was absolute. Gasps were subtle. Whispers restrained. But the energy shifted instantly.

“He will be acknowledged publicly as my heir.” There it was. Structure. Declaration. No apology. Across the room, Marybeth didn’t move. She didn’t smile. She didn’t soften. She assessed. I respected that more than I should have.

Seraphina stepped forward half a pace, her voice clear and composed.

“We welcome him,” she said. “Blackridge has always valued legacy and continuity.” The words were flawless. The tone was not. Only I heard the strain beneath it. Only I felt the microsecond delay before she said welcome.

The pack responded with cautious approval. Elders nodding. Younger members whispering calculations. An heir stabilized the future. It also altered it. When I invited the boy forward, Marybeth walked beside him.

She did not send him alone. That was deliberate. Her presence was not symbolic. It was strategic. He stood between us … Blackridge blood and Calloway lineage embodied in one small, steady frame. I knelt to his level.

“What’s your name?” I asked publicly, though I already knew. He answered clearly. Pride hit me unexpectedly. It wasn’t dominance. It wasn’t possession. It was recognition. He looked at me without fear. And something inside me shifted permanently. I stood and faced the pack again.

“His place here does not weaken Blackridge,” I said. “It strengthens us.” My gaze swept the room deliberately. Any elder who doubted me would find no hesitation there. Across the space, I saw Marybeth’s shoulders lower slightly.

Not relief. Confirmation. She had needed to see whether I would treat him as a symbol or a son. I chose son. When the formalities ended, the room fractured into conversation. Seraphina remained beside me, smiling with measured grace.

“You handled that well,” she murmured.

“So did you,” I replied. Her eyes flicked toward Marybeth, who now stood speaking quietly with her father.

“She seems prepared,” Seraphina said.

“She is,” I answered. There was something dangerous in the simplicity of that statement.

“This changes our trajectory.” Seraphina studied me carefully.

“Yes.” I sighed.

“And your priorities,” she added.

“My priorities have always been the pack.” I met her gaze.

“And now?” she asked softly. The question wasn’t casual.

“Now the pack includes him,” I said. I knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“And her?” she asked. The room seemed to narrow.

“She is the Calloway Alpha,” I replied. “That complicates nothing. It clarifies boundaries.”

“Of course.” Seraphina’s smile returned, practiced and precise. But I felt it then. The fracture. For years, our bond had been built on shared endurance. On quiet disappointment carried without spectacle. On stability rather than passion.

Now stability had shifted. She had stood beside me as Luna without producing an heir. Now an heir stood between us. In flesh. In blood. And she had not given him to me. Later, as the crowd thinned, an elder approached discreetly.

“This alters negotiations with Calloway,” he said.

“It strengthens them,” I replied.

“Or inflames them,” he countered. I didn’t answer immediately. Because he wasn’t wrong. Marybeth caught my eye again across the room. There was no triumph in her expression. No softness either.

Only something steady. I knew then that whatever this became, it would not be simple. Not politically. Not personally. When Seraphina excused herself to speak with a cluster of younger pack members, I stepped outside briefly for air.

The cold hit sharply. Marybeth followed. We stood several feet apart, breath visible in the winter dark.

“You did what you said you would,” she sounded surprised.

“I always do,” I replied. Her gaze searched my face. Not for weakness. For truth.

“You didn’t use him,” she said quietly.

“No.” A beat of silence.

“You want more than acknowledgment,” she added. The accusation was soft. And accurate.

“I want what’s best for him,” I said.

“That’s not the same thing,” she replied. Our eyes locked. For one reckless second, I wanted to close the distance. To admit that I had never stopped wanting her. That seeing her again had reopened something I had disciplined into silence. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“I won’t destabilize what I’ve built,” I said instead.

“Neither will I.” Her mouth curved faintly. Inside the lodge, Seraphina’s laughter rang out too brightly. Marybeth glanced toward it.

“You should go back,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. As I turned, I felt it fully for the first time. The strain. Not from the pack. From within my own house. Because acknowledging my son had not just shifted succession. It had shifted balance.

And for the first time since accepting the bond, I wondered whether stability had been mistaken for harmony. Behind me, Marybeth remained standing in the dark. And I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

When I stepped back inside, the energy had shifted again. The pack was still congratulatory. Still orderly. But something sharper moved beneath the surface now. Calculation. Reassessment. Succession was no longer theoretical.

Seraphina stood near the fireplace, speaking to two elders with poised composure. She noticed me immediately and excused herself with a graceful nod.

“You shouldn’t disappear during a transition,” she said softly as she approached. “It invites speculation.”

“I needed air,” I replied. Her gaze flicked past me toward the entrance. Toward Marybeth.

“She followed you,” Seraphina observed.

“She needed clarity,” I said.

“And you gave it to her?” The question sounded neutral. It wasn’t. I studied her more carefully then. In the years since our bond, Seraphina had never been volatile. Never reactive. If anything, she had been frustratingly composed.

When elders questioned her inability to conceive, she responded with dignity. When rivals tested her authority, she adjusted with calculation. She had never shown jealousy. Until now.

“There is no ambiguity,” I said. “About him.”

“I wasn’t speaking about the boy,” she replied. That caught me off guard. The room seemed to narrow around us. Seraphina’s smile remained in place, but her eyes were sharper than I’d ever seen them. “You look at her differently,” she said quietly. “You always have.”

The accusation was soft. But unmistakable.

“I have known her since she was sixteen,” I said evenly. “Calloway rivalry required awareness.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Seraphina waved at someone and smiled, but her tone of voice gave away her feelings. A faint heat rose in my chest … not guilt, not defensiveness. Surprise. Jealousy was not something Seraphina indulged in.

Not publicly. Not privately. We had never built our bond on passion. It had been structure. Compatibility. Political alignment. Stable. Now there was tension beneath her composure.

“She left,” Seraphina continued. “You accepted that. You moved forward. We built something functional.” Functional. The word landed heavier than she intended. “And now?” she asked.

“Now we adapt,” I said. I couldn’t give her more than that. I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t love Marybeth. Her jaw tightened slightly.

“She is the Calloway Alpha,” Seraphina said. “And she stands beside your heir.”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

“And you think that doesn’t change perception?” Seraphina turned her back to the people and glared at me. Perception. That was the language she understood best.

“It changes nothing about my role,” I replied. Her eyes searched mine, looking for something I refused to let surface.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. “The pack forgives strategy. It does not forgive divided loyalty.” Divided loyalty. The implication was clear. For the first time since our bond, I felt something unfamiliar when looking at my mate.

Not resentment. Not disappointment. Confusion. Because jealousy had never belonged in our structure. And yet it stood between us now, subtle but undeniable. Across the room, Marybeth spoke quietly with her father, steady and unbothered.

Seraphina followed my gaze. And this time, she did not pretend she hadn’t noticed where it lingered. For the first time since we met, Seraphina Vale looked threatened. And I wasn’t sure whether that threat came from politics. Or from something far more personal.