Rejected In Nairobi, Claimed With The Alpha's Baby.

CHAPTER 7: THE GOLD-EYED RIVALS.

The call came at midnight.

Mark's personal phone rang — not the business line, the old private line only family had. The ringtone was a wolf howl, the one Joseph had set for council calls.

Mark was in his bedroom in the main mansion, but he hadn't slept since the incident with Vanessa in the office. He was sitting by the window, looking at Aisha's cottage in the garden, where the light was finally off. Aisha and Zara were sleeping.

He answered on the first ring. "Yes."

"Mark Mwangi." The voice on the other side was deep, old, and cold. Peter Kenyatta. The Alpha of the Runda pack. Vanessa's uncle. The man who owned half of Kiambu and all the private security companies that guarded Nairobi's rich.

"Peter," Mark said, his voice instantly hard.

"You broke the treaty, boy," Peter said, without greeting. "Article 7 of the 1978 Alpha Alliance. 'No pack shall hide a female heir of pure blood without informing the council within 30 days of birth.' Your daughter is three years old. You hid her for three years. My niece Vanessa informed me today that you have a silver-eyed female in your Karen compound. Is it true?"

Mark closed his eyes. He knew this would happen. When Vanessa left the office crying, she would run straight to Peter.

"She is my daughter," Mark said quietly. "She is three. Her name is Zara. She lives with her mother. This is not council business."

Peter laughed, a dry laugh. "Not council business? Mark, you were supposed to marry Vanessa. Our packs were supposed to unite. My pack has no female for 25 years. Your pack now has one, and you gave her to a human waitress? Under old law, a female heir of pure blood belongs to the alliance, not to one pack. We have the right to claim joint custody. Or challenge."

"Don't you dare talk about claiming my daughter," Mark growled, his silver eyes starting to glow even though Peter couldn't see them through the phone.

"I am not talking," Peter said. "I am telling. Tomorrow at 10 AM, the council will meet at the old fig tree behind Village Market. All Alphas. Bring the child. Bring the mother. We will decide if the child is truly pure and where she will be raised. If you don't come, we will come to Karen and take her. And you know the council favors the stronger pack. Runda is stronger than Karen right now. Your grandfather is dying."

The line went dead.

Mark sat in the dark, his hands shaking. He looked at the cottage again.

He had promised Aisha 90 days of safety. He had given her 2 days before war came to her door.

He walked out of the main house in his sweatpants, barefoot, across the cold garden grass to the cottage. He knocked softly.

Aisha opened the door immediately — she hadn't slept either. She was in a leso, her hair tied up, her eyes red.

"I heard you shouting on the phone," she whispered. "Is it about Zara?"

Mark nodded and stepped inside. Zara was sleeping in her pink bed, her silver eyes flickering behind closed eyelids, dreaming again.

"The Kenyatta pack knows," Mark said, his voice low and fast. "Peter Kenyatta called. The council is tomorrow at 10 AM. They want to see Zara. They want to decide if she is pure and who gets to raise her."

Aisha's face went pale. "What do you mean who gets to raise her? I am her mother! She stays with me!"

"I know," Mark said, kneeling in front of her. "Aisha, listen. In the human world, you are her mother, you have rights. In the Alpha world, old laws say a female pure Alpha belongs to all packs, because she is the future mother of all Alphas. It's stupid, it's ancient, but Peter will use it. He wants to take Zara to Runda and raise her there, marry her to his son when she is older."

Aisha grabbed Zara's bed frame. "No. No one will take my daughter and marry her off like a cow! She is three!"

"I will not let them," Mark said, and his silver eyes glowed bright, lighting the small cottage. "I will fight the whole council if I have to. But I need you to be brave tomorrow. You need to come to the fig tree and stand with me. And you need to let Zara show her eyes. If they see true silver, they will know she is Mwangi. Only Mwangi blood glows like that."

Aisha looked at her sleeping daughter. "What if they say she is not pure? What if they say she is... mixed because I am human?"

Mark touched Aisha's hand gently for the first time. "Aisha, when I first met you at Serena, do you remember what you did? You were serving 20 tables alone because the other waitress was sick. You were tired, your feet were hurting, but you still gave me extra samosas because I said I missed my mother's cooking. My wolf knew that day. My wolf said, 'That human girl has more Alpha heart than any Alpha female.' Zara is pure because you are pure. Not because of blood. Because of heart."

Aisha started crying.

At 10 AM the next day, Village Market, behind the old fig tree.

The fig tree was even bigger than the one in Karen — 200 years old, its roots coming out of the ground like giant snakes. Under it, there were seven old men sitting on wooden stools, all wearing kanzus, all with eyes that glowed faintly — some gold, some brown, one with faded silver.

Joseph Mwangi was there, in a wheelchair, wrapped in a Maasai shuka, his silver eyes dim but alive. Margaret pushed him. Next to him stood Peter Kenyatta, tall, bald, with bright gold eyes, wearing a very expensive suit even under the tree. Vanessa stood behind him, her cheek still red from Aisha's slap.

And in the middle, Mark, Aisha, and Zara.

Zara was wearing her best yellow dress. Aisha had braided her hair into two puffs. Zara was scared because there were so many people staring, and she held onto Aisha's dress tight, hiding her face.

"This is the child?" one old man asked, his voice like dry leaves.

Aisha knelt and whispered to Zara, "Baby, it's okay. Can you show them your beautiful eyes? Just look at them, my love."

Zara slowly turned, her silver eyes glowing soft silver in the shade of the fig tree.

All seven old men gasped at the same time.

Even Peter Kenyatta stepped back.

Pure silver. Not grey, not light blue, not contacts. Pure, glowing, moonlight silver that lit up the dark under the tree.

Joseph Mwangi in the wheelchair started crying. "Mwangi... pure Mwangi... after 20 years..."

He reached out his shaking hand. "Come, little one. Come to your great-grandfather."

Zara looked at Aisha, scared. Aisha nodded, tears in her eyes.

Zara walked slowly to Joseph and touched his wrinkled hand. The moment she touched him, Joseph's dim silver eyes flared bright again, strong and powerful, as if Zara's touch had given him life.

The old men murmured: "The blood recognizes the blood."

Peter Kenyatta's face was hard. "It is true. She is pure. But the law—"

"The law says," Joseph said suddenly, his voice strong despite being old and sick, "that a pure female must be raised by her mother until her first shift at 13, with the protection of her father's pack. It is in Article 9. You are reading Article 7, Peter, but you forgot Article 9. My wife taught me to read full pages, not just half."

He looked at Peter with glowing silver eyes.

"Zara Mwangi will be raised by her mother, Aisha Wanjiku, in my compound in Karen, under my protection and my grandson Mark's protection. She will visit both packs when she is older, if she chooses. But she will not be claimed, she will not be taken, and she will not be married to anyone until she is 25 and chooses herself. That is my ruling as Alpha Prime."

Peter's gold eyes glowed with anger. "You are old, Joseph. Your ruling will not stand when you die. My pack—"

"When I die," Joseph said, "my great-granddaughter will be Alpha Prime. And she will remember who tried to take her from her mother."

He looked at Zara, who was now back in Aisha's arms, her silver eyes glowing bright.

"Do you want to stay with your Mommy?" Joseph asked her gently.

Zara nodded big. "I want Mommy and Daddy and Grandma Margaret!"

The seven old men laughed — a deep, warm laugh that made birds fly from the fig tree.

Peter Kenyatta turned and walked away, pulling Vanessa with him. But as he passed Mark, he whispered, "This is not over, Mwangi. Gold will always hunt silver. Always."

When they were gone, Joseph called Aisha closer.

"Aisha Wanjiku," he said, holding her hand. "My grandson broke your heart three years ago because I told him to. I was the one who said marry Vanessa. I was wrong. Forgive an old fool? You gave me the greatest gift — a great-granddaughter with my eyes. From today, you are not a waitress. You are a Mwangi. And this," he pulled a small silver bracelet with a tiny wolf on it from his shuka, "this was my mother's. It protects female Alphas from bad dreams. For Zara."

Aisha took it with shaking hands and put it on Zara's tiny wrist.

Zara's silver eyes glowed brighter and then settled, calm.

That night, back in the Karen cottage, Zara slept without dreams for the first time in two months. The silver bracelet glowed softly.

Aisha sat outside the cottage with Mark, drinking tea, watching the stars over Karen.

"90 days," she said.

Mark smiled. "90 days."

But both knew it would be longer. Much longer.