The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 11 - Preparation.

Marybeth

The notice arrived at 8:14 a.m. Certified mail. Official letterhead. Neutral tone. Which meant it wasn’t neutral at all. I stood at the kitchen counter staring at the envelope longer than necessary before opening it.

Eli was at school. My father had already left for an early meeting. The house was quiet enough that I could hear the refrigerator hum. I slit the envelope carefully. “Notice of Parental Fitness Review

Concerns regarding emotional stability, social integration, and environmental influence.”

I didn’t feel panic. I knew it was coming after seeing the first official letter. This was just the confirmation of the time and date. They were escalating. Not overtly. Not violently. Structurally. The phrasing was careful … never accusing, only concerned.

Suggesting that my recent “withdrawal from community programming” might signal instability. That Eli’s “increased pressure due to public succession acknowledgment” warranted evaluation. Succession acknowledgment.

They couldn’t say heir too loudly. I set the paper down flat on the counter and read it again. The hearing was scheduled in four days. Location: Blackridge Administrative Offices. Of course, it was. There I was just an outsider.

I was the mother to their heir, but I was still the alpha of a rival pack. I would be under Seraphina’s jurisdiction. She wasn’t trying to win emotionally. She was trying to win procedurally. For a moment … just a moment … I considered calling Rowan.

He deserved to know. He would intervene. He had intervened before. But that thought died quickly. If I called him now, I would be proving dependency. And I refused to build protection on a man who was still sleeping in the same house as the woman orchestrating this.

No. If Rowan wanted to stand beside me, he would have to notice without prompting. I folded the notice neatly and walked to my office. Calloway strategy had never been about loud retaliation. We were quieter than Blackridge. More patient.

I opened my laptop. Timeline. Documentation. Recorded statements from Eli. Copies of counsellor emails. Screenshots of policy inconsistencies. Proof of selective enforcement. I built a file methodically.

If they wanted structure, I would give them structure. By afternoon, my father was sitting across from me reviewing the documents.

“She’s bold,” he said.

“She’s threatened,” I corrected.

“She’s a Luna,” he replied. “Threat and position are the same thing.”

“This isn’t about me.” I leaned back slightly.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s about succession.” He studied me carefully. “You expected Rowan to react differently,” he added.

“I expected him to see sooner.” I held his gaze.

“And does he?” my father asked.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. The uncertainty bothered me more than the notice. Because the truth was … if Rowan had orchestrated this, I would already be at war. The fact that I suspected Seraphina instead complicated everything. That night, Eli noticed the shift before I did.

“Are we in trouble?” he asked quietly as I tucked him into bed.

“No,” I said immediately. He studied my face like he was trying to read something beneath it.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. My throat tightened.

“I know,” I said. “You don’t have to try so hard.” He hesitated.

“She said being Alpha’s son means people watch.” Eli frowned. She.

“People can watch. That doesn’t mean you shrink.” I kept my voice even. He nodded, but I saw the weight sitting on his small shoulders. When he fell asleep, I sat there longer than necessary. Seven years ago, I left because I refused to be leveraged.

Now my child was being leveraged. And the irony was sharp enough to taste. The next morning, I drafted my formal response. I did not attack. I did not accuse. I requested clarity on the basis for evaluation and cited procedural overreach.

If they wanted legal posture, I would meet them there. Three days before the hearing, I ran into Rowan outside the hardware store. Of course, I did. Alder Ridge was small enough that avoidance required effort. He looked tired. Not physically. Internally.

“You’ve been busy,” he said.

“So have you,” I replied. There was something charged in the air between us now … thicker than rivalry. Harder to ignore.

“You’re withdrawing from youth programs,” he observed.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I told you I would.”

“That will look reactive,” he reiterated.

“I don’t care how it looks.” I shrugged.

“You should.” His jaw tightened slightly.

“Why?” I asked. “Because perception is everything? Blah blah blah …” I rolled my eyes, repeating his words. He didn’t answer immediately. And that silence told me something. “You don’t know,” I said quietly.

“Know what?” He looked confused.

“About the hearing.” I studied him carefully for any sign that he knew about it. His eyes sharpened instantly.

“What hearing?” He looked shocked. I knew then that he hadn’t been told. That realization shifted something deep inside me.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Marybeth.” His tone changed. Not Alpha. Not rival. Just him. I hesitated. For half a second. Then I chose restraint.

“If it concerns you, you’ll hear about it,” I said evenly. His gaze searched my face.

“You think I wouldn’t intervene?” he sighed, pulling his fingers through his thick hair.

“I think you’re divided,” I shrugged. That landed. The tension between us thickened.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said quietly through gritted teeth.

“I know,” I answered. That was the problem. Because if he were my enemy, this would be easier. The night before the hearing, I laid out my documents neatly on the dining table. Calloway elders would attend.

I would stand alone if necessary. I would not cry. I would not plead. I would dismantle the narrative piece by piece. For a brief, reckless moment, I wondered whether Rowan would find out in time. Whether he would walk into that room unannounced.

Whether he would stand beside me without asking permission. The thought unsettled me more than it comforted me. Because I wanted him to. And that want felt dangerous. Four days earlier, I would have called him.

Tonight, I didn’t. If he chose to show up, it would be because he saw clearly. Not because I asked. I needed him to see on his own. And as I sealed the final folder and turned off the lights, I understood something with brutal clarity.

This hearing wasn’t about my parenting. It was about forcing Rowan to choose. The question was whether he even knew he was being forced. The next morning, I dressed in dark green. Calloway color. Calloway spine.

And drove toward Blackridge administrative offices ready for war. What I didn’t know … Was that Rowan had just discovered the hearing by accident. And he was already furious. All I knew was that the Blackridge administrative building rose ahead of me like a monument to restraint.

Clean lines. Frosted glass. Security cameras angled with precision. It was a place built to look human and operate wolf. Control disguised as civility. I parked without hesitation. My hands didn’t shake. They burned.

When I stepped out of the car, the cold air bit sharply across my cheeks, but it didn’t touch the heat beneath my skin. I had prepared for this moment with strategy, documentation, posture. What I hadn’t prepared for was the quiet part of me that still wondered …

Will he come? Not because I needed him. Because I wanted him to choose. The thought irritated me. I didn’t want to want that. Seven years ago, I left because I refused to orbit a man who wouldn’t claim me.

I built a life where my decisions didn’t hinge on whether Rowan Blackridge turned his head in my direction. And yet here I was. Standing in front of his building. Walking into his territory. Carrying proof that his mate was trying to dismantle my motherhood.

If he showed up, it would mean something. If he didn’t, it would mean something else. I pushed through the glass doors without slowing. Inside, the receptionist looked startled to see me so early.

“Good morning, Alpha Calloway,” she said politely.

“Is the review panel assembled?” I asked. She hesitated.

“Actually,” she began, glancing toward a hallway, “There’s been …” Footsteps echoed sharply from around the corner. I turned instinctively. Rowan. His expression wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t neutral. It was dark.

Focused. He walked straight toward me without breaking stride.

“You weren’t going to tell me,” he said quietly. Not accusation. Statement. Something in my chest tightened.

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” I replied.

“You think I wouldn’t stand in that room?” His jaw flexed.

“I think you’re still deciding where you stand,” I said evenly. The words were measured. But they landed. He stepped closer than necessary.

“You don’t get to test me like this,” he said.

“Then don’t fail,” I replied. The air between us felt charged enough to ignite. For a second, just one, everything else faded. The hearing. The politics. The building. There was only proximity. His breath close enough to feel. His eyes searching mine for something I wasn’t ready to give.

“You should have told me,” he said again, softer now.

“And you should have seen,” I answered. A beat of silence. Then …

“It’s cancelled.” He growled softly.

“What?” I blinked.

“I cancelled it,” he said. “It is not going to happen.” My pulse stuttered.

“You …” I was at a loss.

“I won’t allow my son to be weaponized,” he continued. “Or you.” The second part was quieter. Almost accidental. And it hit harder than the first. For the first time since returning to Alder Ridge, I felt something unfamiliar settle into place.

Not relief. Alignment. He hadn’t been prompted. He hadn’t been guided. He had acted. And as we stood there, inches apart in the quiet lobby, something far more dangerous than rivalry shifted between us. Because now I knew …

Rowan Blackridge was capable of choosing. The question was whether he understood what that choice would cost him.