The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 11 - What's Mine.

Marybeth

I didn’t move when I saw him. For a second, I thought about pretending I hadn’t. Going inside. Locking the door. Ending it before it started. But Rowan didn’t slow down. And something in the way he walked … too fast, too sharp … told me he wasn’t here to be ignored.

“Marybeth.” My name hit the cold air like a challenge. I didn’t step back. In case he had forgotten … I was no longer that young girl he used to know.

“What do you want?” I fought the urge to growl at him. He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his control was already fraying at the edges.

“I saw you,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied. “And?”

“With him.” He spat the last word as if it was poison.

“And?” I repeated, folding my arms.

“And you think that’s a solution?” His eyes darkened slightly. The word snapped something inside me.

“I think it’s none of your business.” I raised one brow in warning.

“It is my business,” Rowan shot back.

“No,” I said, sharper now. “It isn’t.” His gaze held mine. Unyielding.

“You’re making decisions that affect him.” He nodded in the direction of the front door.

“I always have.” I hit right back, not showing any sign of backing down.

“That doesn’t mean they’re right.” That did it. Anger flared hot and immediately.

“You don’t get to stand here and judge me,” I snapped. “You don’t get to walk into his life after six years and decide what’s best for him.” My nails started to grow and pierced my skin. The scent of blood instantly registered in Rowan’s eyes.

“I’m not deciding,” he calmed down slightly. “I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I let out a sharp laugh. “You mean like trusting you?” His expression tightened.

“This isn’t about me.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

“It’s always about you,” I shot back. “Everything you’ve said since you saw him has been about what you want, what you think, what you’ve decided.”

“That’s not true.” He shook his head, looking confused, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Then what is it, Rowan?” I demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to take control of something that isn’t yours.” The words landed hard. And for a second … Just a second … Something broke through his restraint.

“He is mine.” Rowan said through gritted teeth. The silence that followed was absolute. The words hung between us. Heavy. Final. Irrevocable. My breath caught.

“You don’t get to say that,” I finally said quietly.

“I don’t get to say it?” he repeated, disbelief cutting through his voice. “He’s my son.”

“No.” The denial came fast. Sharp. Instinctive. “You don’t get to claim him now.”

“I’m not claiming him,” Rowan said, stepping closer. “I’m acknowledging what’s already true.”

“You lost that right.” I hit back, feeling my fury about to boil over.

“I didn’t even know he existed.” He threw one hand in the air in frustration.

“You told me to forget!” I snapped. “You made sure I had no reason to come back, no reason to tell you, no reason to trust you with something like this.” His jaw tightened.

“I would have …”

“No,” I cut in. “You wouldn’t have.” Silence stretched between us, thick with everything we hadn’t said seven years ago. “You chose your life,” I continued, my voice dropping. “You chose your bond. Your pack. Your Luna.”

“I chose what was expected of me.” I noted the pain in his eyes as he said it.

“And I chose MY son.” The words settled between us. Clear. Unshakable. “I’ve raised him,” I said. “Protected him. Loved him. Without you.”

“And I’m here now.” He kept pushing.

“That doesn’t change anything.” I didn’t budge.

“It changes everything.” This time both his hands flew through the air.

“No,” I said again. “It doesn’t.” Because if I let it … If I allowed even a fraction of what he was saying to matter … Everything I had built would start to fracture. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not for him. Not again.

“You don’t get to walk in here and decide you’re his father,” I said. “You don’t get to interfere in his life, in my life, in the choices I make for him.”

“I’m not interfering,” Rowan said, but there was less certainty in it now.

“You are,” I said. “And you need to stop.” His gaze held mine. Still. Intense. Like he was searching for something he refused to let go of.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

“Then I will.” Something in me snapped. The words came out colder than anything I had said so far. “Stay away from me,” I continued. “Stay away from my son.”

“Marybeth …” He took a step forward.

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Just … don’t.” Silence fell again. This time heavier. More final. Rowan stared at me for a long moment. Then something in his expression shut down. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Acceptance.

“Understood,” he said. Flat. Controlled. Alpha again. He turned. Walked away. And this time … I didn’t stop him. After he had gone, the door felt heavier than it should have when I pushed it open. Like it knew something had changed. Like it understood what I had just done.

“Mom?” I froze. Eli stood in the hallway, his small frame half-hidden in the dim light, his expression uncertain.

“How long have you been there?” I asked carefully.

“I heard voices,” he said. “Who were you talking to?” My heart stuttered. Not panic. Something sharper. More fragile. I forced my expression to soften.

“Just someone from the pack,” I said. “Nothing important.” He studied me. Too perceptive. Too quiet.

“Why were you shouting?” He rubbed his little eyes.

“I wasn’t shouting,” I said gently. “We were just… talking loudly.” He didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t push either. Children rarely did when they sensed something deeper than they could understand. I crouched down in front of him.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Come here.” He stepped closer. I brushed a strand of hair back from his face. “You know I’m always going to take care of you, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“And everything I do … every decision I make … it’s for you.” Another nod. “Okay.” I hesitated. Then … “How would you feel,” I asked carefully, “about having someone else around? Someone who could help us?”

“Like who?” He frowned slightly.

“A … friend,” I said. “Someone who could be there for you. Help out. Be part of things.” He considered that. Not rejecting it. Not accepting it either. Then …

“Like a dad?” he asked. The word hit harder than anything Rowan had said. I swallowed.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Something like that.” Eli looked at me. Really looked.

“Where’s my real dad?” The question settled into my chest like something heavy and unavoidable. I had always known this moment would come. I had just hoped for more time. I brushed my thumb lightly across his cheek.

“He’s gone,” I said softly.

“Gone where?” He looked confused.

“He … died.” The word felt final. Too final. Eli’s face crumpled slightly. Not fully. Not yet. But enough.

“Oh.” I pulled him into my arms before the rest could hit. Before the questions could follow. Before the weight of it settled the way it inevitably would.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.” He clung to me. Small hands gripping tight. And for a moment … We just stayed like that. Holding onto each other. Letting the truth … real or not … settle between us.

I pressed my face into his hair, closing my eyes. And through the quiet, something surfaced. Unwanted. Uninvited. Seraphina’s voice. “You shouldn’t have to do everything alone.” I tightened my hold on Eli.

I didn’t like her. Didn’t trust her. Would never accept what she was trying to do. But … That didn’t make her wrong. Not about everything. Eli shifted slightly in my arms.

“Are we okay?” he asked quietly. I pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Yes,” I said. Always. “We’re okay.” But as I stood there, holding him … I knew one thing with absolute certainty. I couldn’t keep him in the dark forever. And I couldn’t keep him sheltered forever either.

If I was going to protect him … Really protect him … Then I needed to start making decisions that weren’t just about keeping him close. I needed to prepare him for the world he had been born into. Even if it meant letting parts of it in. Slowly. Carefully. On my terms.

“Hey,” I said softly. “How would you feel about starting school?”