The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 3 - The Ceremony.

Marybeth

I told myself I wouldn’t go. That I shouldn’t go. I said it out loud, even. Standing in my room with the curtains half-drawn and the winter light cutting my floor into pale stripes, I promised myself I would stay away. I would not watch.

I would not stand in a crowd and measure my pain against other people’s approval. I couldn’t. I would let the ceremony pass without my witness and leave town quietly afterward, cleanly, without another wound added to the list.

That was the plan. Alder Ridge had other ideas. The ceremony bells rang anyway. Not literal bells, not anymore. The town council preferred subtlety for the humans. But wolves heard the low chime threaded through the municipal alert system.

We felt it in their bones the way humans felt weather changing. Phones buzzed. Doors opened. The town leaned, collectively, toward the square. I stayed in my room. For a while. I packed instead. Not everything. Just enough to convince myself I was serious. A duffel on the bed.

Clothes folded with too much care. Documents tucked into an inner pocket. My hands shook, then steadied. The nausea hovered but didn’t crest. I breathed through it. I was not going. Then I heard the music start.

Not the festival kind. Slower. Intentional. The kind chosen to carry weight without drawing suspicion. The sound drifted through my open window, low and resonant, threading itself through my chest.

I stopped packing. I told myself I just wanted to know when it was over. That if I timed my departure right, I could leave while everyone else was distracted, eyes turned toward the square. I pulled on my coat, grabbed my keys, and slipped out the back door like I had a hundred times before.

I did not head straight for the square. I took the long way, skirting side streets, keeping to shadows. I stayed far enough back that I told myself I wasn’t really there. Just close enough to hear the crowd swell, to feel the collective attention shift and settle.

The square was full. Lights glowed warm against the cold. Signs were all over town that they were starting to prepare for the coming Christmas festival. Banners hung straight and heavy, Blackridge sigils worked carefully into patterns humans would read as decorative geometry.

The stage stood solid and elevated, flanked by town officials and Blackridge Security in dark jackets that looked indistinguishable from any other private firm to anyone who didn’t know better. Rowan stood at the centre.

My breath caught in the back of my throat. He wore a dark suit this time, tailored and severe, his hair neatly pulled back. He looked older than twenty-three in that moment. Not aged. Settled. The kind of man people trusted to make decisions that hurt and call them necessary.

Seraphina stood beside him. Dressed in a beautiful glimmering white gown. She was calm in a way that made my chest ache. Not triumphant. Not gloating. Simply assured. Her hand rested lightly against Rowan’s arm, her posture relaxed.

She looked like she had always belonged there and was only now being properly acknowledged. I stayed at the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind a tree, my heart hammering so hard I was sure someone would hear it.

I told myself I would leave once the vows began. I did not. The ceremony was already nearing its end by the time I realized I was still there. Words rolled over the crowd, familiar and ancient, woven into modern phrasing for the sake of the humans listening.

Commitment. Partnership. Stability. Protection. The language of order dressed up as romance. Rowan spoke. His voice carried easily, steady and controlled. He did not hesitate. He did not falter. He did not look for me.

Not once. That was what broke me. I had told myself I didn’t need acknowledgment. That his avoidance afterward had been about restraint, about danger, about keeping the peace. Standing there now, watching him speak vows meant for someone else without a single flicker of doubt, I understood how wrong I had been.

This wasn’t restraint. This was a choice. Seraphina spoke next. Her voice was softer, but no less certain. She smiled at Rowan, and he returned it with something restrained but real. Approval rippled through the crowd.

Heads nodded. Elders leaned toward one another with satisfied expressions. This was right, the town seemed to say. This was how things should be. The bond was acknowledged. Applause rose, loud and wholehearted.

I didn’t clap. I couldn’t. I felt as if I could scream, but I didn’t. Something inside me went very still, like a door closing quietly rather than slamming. The realization settled with brutal clarity. There would be no confrontation.

No confession that changed anything. Duty had already won because duty had never been in question. Even if I spoke now, even if I told him everything, it would not rewrite what I was watching. It would only complicate it.

I would become a problem to be managed, a risk to be mitigated. I would not live like that. I turned away before the ceremony fully ended, slipping through the thinning edge of the crowd as people surged forward to congratulate the new pair.

No one stopped me. No one noticed. I had always been good at leaving unnoticed. The streets beyond the square were quiet, the cold sharper without the press of bodies. I walked until my feet ached, my breath fogging in front of me.

My thoughts were finally aligning into something clean and painful. This place no longer held me. By the time I reached home, the decision was made. I went straight to my room and closed the door. The duffel still lay open on the bed, half-packed.

I stared at it for a long moment, then finished the job with swift, decisive movements. I took what I needed to survive, not what I needed to remember. I paused once, holding a sweater I’d worn to my first council meeting, then set it back in the drawer.

Some things belonged to a life I was done living. I thought of telling my father. The image rose unbidden. His anger sharp and immediate, his instinct to protect turning quickly into strategy. Councils convened. Demands made.

Rowan would be summoned. My pregnancy would be dissected into risks and solutions. No. Silence was the only way to keep what little autonomy I had left. I wrote a note. Short. Careful. Enough to prevent a search, not enough to invite pursuit.

“I’m safe. I need time.” It was the kindest lie I could manage. Outside, the town glowed with celebration. Music carried faintly in the air, laughter rising and falling. Somewhere at its centre, Rowan Blackridge stood beside his mate, already stepping into a future that did not include me.

I shouldered my bag and slipped out the door. The night was cold and clear. Stars sharp against the dark sky. I walked to my car without looking back, loaded the bag, and sat behind the wheel for a moment with my hands resting against the steering wheel, my breath steadying.

My chest hurt. Not in the wild, shattering way I had expected. It was a deep, quiet ache, the kind that came from understanding rather than surprise. I let myself feel it for exactly one breath as I looked at the house where I grew up. Then I started the engine.

The road out of Alder Ridge stretched ahead of me, dark and empty, the town lights shrinking in the rearview mirror with every mile. I rested one hand over my stomach, the gesture instinctive now, grounding.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, to the life only I knew about. I left Alder Ridge broken-hearted but clear-eyed, carrying everything that mattered with me. And as the town disappeared completely behind me, I made myself a promise I believed with my whole heart. I was never coming back.