The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 5 - Blood Knows.

Rowan

I LOVED HER long before I touched her. I never said it out loud. Never even let the word form properly in my own head. Love was indulgent. Reckless. A liability when your last name carried territory lines and generational grudges.

But I had known. I had known the first time she challenged me outside the diner at sixteen, chin lifted, unafraid of the way I watched her. I had known at every council meeting where she stood half a step behind her father, listening harder than anyone else in the room.

I had known on Truce nights when she danced like she refused to be claimed by anyone. I had known. And I had buried it. Calloway and Blackridge had been rivals longer than either of us had been alive.

My father taught me early that discipline mattered more than desire. Those alliances were structural. That enemies did not become entanglements. So, I stayed distant. I watched. I told myself restraint was strength.

The night of the Truce was the only time I let myself forget that. Even then, I didn’t approach her at first. I stood near the fire, forcing myself to breathe through the pull that had been tightening in my chest for years.

She was eighteen. Newly of age. Sharp. Too perceptive for her own safety. When she stepped toward me, laughing, whiskey on her breath and defiance in her eyes, I knew exactly how dangerous it was.

“This can’t happen,” I told her.

“Then why are you still here?” she asked. Because I had been good for too long. Because I was tired of pretending that I didn’t want her. Because I loved her. I didn’t say any of that. I kissed her instead. That night wasn’t careless.

It wasn’t drunken chaos. It was years of suppressed instinct breaking the surface all at once. When I touched her, it felt like an inevitability. Like something written long before either of us were born into rival bloodlines.

And afterward, I did the only thing I thought would protect her. I drew the line.

“You need to forget this,” I told her. I told myself it was mercy. The Blackridge elders had already finalized my formal acceptance of Seraphina. The bond would secure territory negotiations. It would stabilize succession expectations. It would prevent escalation with Calloway.

If Marybeth and I continued, it wouldn’t just hurt us. It would fracture the town. So, I chose discipline. And she vanished. I searched quietly. Not enough to draw attention. Enough to satisfy myself that she hadn’t been harmed.

When nothing surfaced, I told myself she had understood. That she had chosen to leave. I buried what I felt and accepted the bond. Seraphina was composed. Intelligent. Politically sound. I respected her. I fulfilled my role. I told myself that stability was enough.

Years passed. No child came. I carried that disappointment without resentment. I told Seraphina it didn’t matter. I meant it when I said leadership required endurance, not fulfillment. But when I saw the boy in the square … Everything I had buried came back at once.

He stood beside Marybeth, small hand wrapped in hers, and the resemblance struck like a blow. Not subtle. Not questionable. Certain. He had her steadiness and my eyes. My son. The consequence of the one night I allowed myself to act.

I didn’t approach immediately because if I did, it would become a spectacle. Calloway and Blackridge would read it as manoeuvre, not recognition. So, I watched. Marybeth had changed. Not softer.

She was stronger. A lot stronger. There was no apology in her posture. No fear. She had expected this moment. When our eyes met, seven years folded in on themselves. There was no accusation there. No plea. Just understanding.

She knew I knew. That night, I ran the confirmation anyway. Not because I doubted it. Because structure demands proof. When the result came back positive, I didn’t feel shock. Of course, I had my ways of getting the necessary DNA.

I felt relief. A strange, almost overwhelming relief that bordered on joy. For years, I had accepted that legacy might not come through me. That perhaps my line would end in political endurance rather than blood.

Now blood stood in front of me, unaware of the weight he carried. I called Seraphina into my office.

“He’s mine,” I said. I warned her that it might be coming. Of course, I had to admit my sins, but as usual, she took it well. With her perfectly manicured nails, she waved her hand through the air and proclaimed that she would wait for the results.

“You’re certain?” She studied my face carefully. Her perfect poker face studying my every move.

“Yes.” A pause. I didn’t expect her to scream or cry. Seraphina was always … Always perfectly in control of each emotion.

“If that’s true,” she said evenly, “then we should handle it with dignity.” There was no visible fracture in her composure. No overt resentment. I respected that. I had always respected her restraint.

“He deserves acknowledgment,” I said.

“And what of Marybeth?” she asked. It was the first time I noted a slight twitch in her voice. The name settled heavily between us.

“She deserves clarity,” I replied.

“Then bring him in carefully. Gradually. Publicly. Stability must remain intact.” Seraphina nodded once. I interpreted that as support. I wanted to interpret it that way. Because acknowledging the boy meant acknowledging her.

And I had spent seven years pretending she still didn't matter. The next day, I asked Marybeth to meet me privately. We stood in her father’s backyard, winter air biting, Calloway territory pressing close around us. Rival ground. Deliberate choice.

“He’s mine,” I said, keeping a close eye on her father, who was watching us from the porch.

“Yes,” she answered. No hesitation.

“You didn’t tell me.” I studied her carefully this time.

“You told me to forget,” she shrugged and her father discreetly disappeared. The truth of that cut deeper now than it had then.

“I thought it would protect you,” I said. She almost laughed. Not amused. Just tired.

“You thought it would protect structure.” She wasn’t wrong. I stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.

“I never stopped … ” I began, then stopped. Never stopped what? Thinking of you? Wanting you?

Loving you? I had no right to say it now. “You think I’d take him from you,” I said instead.

“I think you’re Alpha,” she replied calmly. “And Alphas secure their heirs. But you have to remember that I’m my father’s heir, which makes Eli mine.”

“I won’t take him from you,” I said. “But I will not leave him unacknowledged.” We were at an impasse. One I thought I avoided all those years ago when I denied myself love and chose structure. Silence stretched between us.

Seven years ago, I had chosen discipline over love. Now love stood in front of me in two forms.

“If you claim him, you do it with me standing there. Not behind you.” Marybeth lifted her chin slightly. The strength in that demand did something dangerous to my control.

“Agreed,” I said. I had no idea how we were going to move forward from there. She already had a claim for her pack by just being the alpha and his mother. What was this going to do to the packs? What was it going to do to me and Seraphina?

When I walked away, the realization settled with brutal clarity. I had loved her. Marybeth. I still did. And the boy with my eyes was not just a consequence. He was proof that one night of truth had created something neither rivalry nor restraint could erase.

I had chosen discipline once. This time, I would choose differently. Because blood knew what pride tried to silence. And I was done pretending I felt nothing.