The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 10 - Fracture.

Rowan

I did not go home calmly. I went home controlled. There is a difference. Control is deliberate. Calm is natural. What I felt walking through the front door of the Blackridge house was not calm. It was pressure. Marybeth’s words replayed with surgical precision.

“You already did. When you defended her without looking,” I had defended Seraphina instinctively. Automatically. The way I had done for years. Because leadership demanded a united front. Because doubt eroded structure.

Because once a Luna is publicly questioned, the pack begins to shift. But the evidence in my hand was not speculative. It had been written in my son’s handwriting. I found Seraphina in the sitting room, lights low, posture straight despite the late hour.

She was waiting. She always knew when something had shifted.

“You’re late,” she said evenly without getting up.

“I was with Marybeth,” I replied, carefully watching her response. Her eyes sharpened just slightly.

“And?” she asked.

“She presented documentation,” I said. “About Eli,” I added. A beat.

“And what documentation would that be?” she asked carefully, getting up and pouring drinks.

“Isolation patterns. Counsellor interventions. Narrative framing.” I watched her carefully like I never had before.

“You believe that child is being targeted?” Seraphina turned slowly.

“I believe he is being shaped,” I said.

“Shaped for what?” she walked over and handed me my drink before taking her seat again.

“For insecurity.” I fought the urge to growl. Her composure thinned almost imperceptibly.

“That’s dramatic,” she waved her hand through the air. “He’s six.”

“He’s an heir.” This time I growled.

“And that is precisely why caution is necessary,” she wasn’t fazed. There it was again. Caution. Stability. Words that sounded protective but carried edges. I had noticed them before, but under the circumstances, I didn’t pay much attention to them.

“You questioned his legitimacy,” I said. I was paying attention now.

“I questioned optics,” she corrected immediately. “Rowan,” she got up, stepping closer, voice lower. “A child appears seven years after a truce night. From a rival, Alpha’s daughter. Do you not see how that looks?”

“I confirmed paternity,” I said flatly.

“Yes,” she replied. “Because you wanted it to be true.” The room went quiet. That was the first strike. She didn’t say something before.

“You think I’m deluding myself?” I frowned.

“I think you’re hopeful,” her hand slipped over my shoulder as it always did when she tried to calm me. The word hit harder than accusation. Hopeful implied weak. Implied blinded.

“I don’t make structural decisions on hope,” I moved away from her touch intentionally.

“No,” she agreed softly. “You make them on guilt.” The second strike. “You slept with her,” she continued. “The night before our mating ceremony. You told me that. You told me it was a mistake. You told me it was finished.”

“It was,” I said. Was. Not is. Seraphina heard it, and her posture faltered only for a second.

“You look at her differently,” she said.

“That’s irrelevant.” I sighed.

“It isn’t,” she said quietly. “Not when she’s standing beside your heir.” There it was. The word carried weight now. Heir. The thing she had not been able to give me.

“We tried,” I said, more defensively than I intended.

“For years,” she replied, tears brimming her eyes. Her voice didn’t rise. It sharpened. “Doctors,” she continued. “Tests. Schedules. Ritual consultations. You stood beside me through all of it.”

“I did.” I nodded, wondering where she was going with all of this.

“And now she returns with what I couldn’t produce,” Seraphina said. “And you expect me not to feel displaced?” Displaced. The word landed somewhere deeper than I expected.

“I have never blamed you,” I said.

“You didn’t have to,” she replied. “You just needed an heir.”

“That’s not fair.” I growled softly.

“Fair?” she repeated softly. “You broke discipline for her. Once. And it created a son.” The accusation hung heavy. “You broke it for no one else,” she added. That was true. And that truth unsettled me.

“I accepted our bond because it stabilized Blackridge,” I said carefully. “Because it protected territory. Because it prevented escalation with Calloway.”

“And because you told yourself what you felt for her would pass,” Seraphina hit the nail right on the head. I didn’t answer. That silence was answer enough. She saw it. For the first time since our bond ceremony, something visibly cracked in her composure.

“You never stopped,” she whispered. The accusation wasn’t angry. It was wounded. I felt something shift inside me … guilt, yes … but also clarity. I had buried what I felt. I had not erased it.

“I honoured our bond,” I tried to defend my actions.

“You endured it,” she corrected. The word struck harder than anything else she had said. Endured. Not cherished. Not desired. Endured. “You think this is about politics,” she continued. “It isn’t. It’s about you choosing her once and pretending it didn’t matter.” I felt heat rise in my chest.

“I did what leadership required,” I said.

“You did what fear required,” she replied. The silence that followed was suffocating. For years, we had operated as structure. Clean. Functional. Controlled. Tonight, that structure showed fracture lines.

“She left,” I said finally.

“Because you told her to,” Seraphina said. Another strike. The truth moved between us like a blade. “You want him,” she said quietly. “The boy. I can see it.”

“Yes.” I watched her. It pained me that I was causing both women such pain, but I was in the worst position possible, and I had no idea what to do about it. The only thing I could think about was protecting my son.

“And you want her,” Seraphina’s words ripped me out of my line of thought. I didn’t answer. This time, she didn’t need me to. Her eyes filled … not dramatically, not theatrically. Just enough to show the depth of something she had buried for years.

“You already have what I couldn’t give you,” she said. That one landed. Not because it was cruel. Because it was honest. I stepped back first.

“I will not allow anyone to destabilize him,” I said.

“And I will not be erased,” she replied. We stood there for several long seconds. Then she turned toward the bedroom. I did not follow. For the first time since our bond ceremony, I slept in the guest room.

The distance felt louder than any argument. I did not sleep easily. When I finally drifted under, it wasn’t Seraphina I saw. It was Marybeth. Not the truce night. Not whiskey and firelight. Her standing in the square, chin lifted, son at her side.

Strong. Unafraid. And in the dream, she looked at me and said one thing. “Choose.” I woke before dawn, breath uneven. And for the first time since I accepted the Blackridge bond, I understood something with brutal clarity.

I had chosen stability. But stability had never been the same as peace. And now the cost of that choice was looking at me with my own eyes. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I knew the current situation wouldn’t remain calm for long.

Seraphina wasn’t going to let go that easily. Marybeth didn’t want me. She only wanted a father for her son. If I was lucky, I could still salvage the situation. I could … No, I would settle if I had to. If it meant living without love, but having my son in my life.