His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 103

**Chapter 103**

**Claire’s POV**

I had no idea I was calling out for Elijah until the sound of his name became lodged in my throat, morphing into something more primal, something akin to a sob that clawed its way out.

The darkness had descended upon us with a ferocity that left my senses reeling, transforming the once-glimmering ballroom into a chaotic abyss of noise and confusion. I could feel the crowd swirling around me, a tide of bodies, yet I couldn’t truly see any of their faces, just a blur of movement and panic.

My hands were slick with Elijah’s blood—warm, disturbingly sticky—and each time I blinked, I was haunted by the image of him slumping against me, his breaths shallow and labored, his wolf flickering like a candle on the verge of extinguishing.

Inside me, my wolf was a bundle of nerves, trembling and frantic. In a moment I hadn’t experienced in years, she reached out.

Not to Elijah.

Not to Ethan.

But to my mother. Though my mind might have forgotten her, my wolf remembered, recognizing her essence even amidst the chaos.

Mom—Mom, please—

The bond between us snapped open with an electric jolt, and in an instant, my mother’s voice surged through it, breathless and filled with concern, already shifting into her Alpha mode. “Claire? Where are you? What happened?”

I tried to respond, but the words tangled in my throat, a knot of confusion and dread. Instead, my wolf began to push forth fragmented images—Elijah collapsing, the sudden shove I hadn’t anticipated, the throng of bodies rushing toward the exits in a frenzy.

My mind struggled to catch up, to comprehend the chaos that surrounded me, to find the air that felt so elusive. I could hear Naomi nearby, her heartbeat steady and calm, as if she were merely an observer to the disaster unfolding rather than a participant.

And then it struck me, cold and piercing, causing my breath to hitch in my chest.

Elijah wasn’t the target of this attack.

I was.

The world continued to whirl in the darkness, a cacophony of sounds blending into a single overwhelming roar—people stumbling over chairs, glass shattering, wolves growling in distress, someone shouting for a medic—but none of it helped me pinpoint where the threat had originated, or how it had all transpired.

I was blinded, my senses dulled by fear. My wolf paced restlessly inside me, her claws scraping against my ribs, as if she could tear her way out and resolve everything on her own.

Then, as suddenly as the lights had gone out, they burst back to life.

Gasps filled the air as people squinted against the brightness. A scream erupted when someone caught sight of the bloodied trail on the floor. With a surge of desperation, I finally managed to choke out, “Help! Somebody help him—please!”

But Elijah remained motionless.

His wolf was still there—barely—but enough for me to feel its presence, a faint pulse brushing against mine.

I pressed my palm against his cheek, whispering words that would elude me later, a desperate string of sounds that held no coherence, because nothing articulate would come. My fingers trembled uncontrollably. My breaths came in stuttered gasps. Fear coiled tightly around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.

Ethan appeared suddenly, his entrance so swift that my mind struggled to process it. His face, usually calm and composed, was now marred by a look that bordered on terror.

The moment he laid eyes on Elijah, something within him shifted; his wolf surged forth, taking control without hesitation. Bones cracked and shifted. Fur erupted across skin. His clothes tore apart as the massive gray wolf emerged in the span of a heartbeat.

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