His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 110

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**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 110**

**Claire’s POV**

The soft murmur of voices floated through the air, pulling me from the depths of sleep. It was that peculiar early-morning chatter, the kind that felt out of place in what should have been a serene household. We were back in the pack house, a refuge that had seen better days, and Elijah had been moved to a more secure section of the healer’s den after the chaos of the gala. Apparently, he had thrown quite the fit when Ethan suggested taking him to the eastern ridges.

Lying in bed, I initially hoped the sounds were figments of my imagination, remnants of a dream. Yet, the noises persisted—doors creaked open and slammed shut, gravel crunched underfoot, and a voice barked orders, brisk and authoritative, devoid of anger.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and slipped into the first sweater my fingers found. The fabric was soft against my skin, but my mind was racing. As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with one of the maids, who was balancing a tray of neatly folded towels against her chest.

“Claire! Oh, good morning, dear,” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and urgency.

“What’s happening?” I inquired, leaning slightly to peer past her. At the far end of the corridor, I spotted several figures clad in dark police jackets, their badges glinting in the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, the excitement in her eyes betraying her hesitation to share. “They caught someone. A man. He claims he was the one who attacked Alpha Elijah during the blackout. He’s outside now, recounting how he infiltrated the gala. They’ve been grilling him for over an hour, but he won’t reveal who paid him. His story keeps shifting.”

A knot of unease twisted in my stomach, a slow, unsettling churn. “In what way is it changing?” I pressed, my pulse quickening.

“Sometimes he insists he entered through the kitchen, and then moments later, he swears he was in the sound booth area. The officers are frustrated because he can’t possibly have been in both places. And… he’s refusing to describe who hired him.”

Of course he was.

The scent of Naomi’s perfume seemed to linger in the air, taunting me. I could almost hear her voice, smooth and confident, as she’d stood there, seemingly serene, while Elijah lay bleeding on the floor.

She was undoubtedly capable of finding someone desperate enough—or naïve enough—to shoulder the blame for her actions. Especially if she dangled something enticing in front of him.

Power. Wealth. Protection from the pack. Or perhaps she had coerced him into compliance. Naomi had an uncanny ability to infiltrate the minds of weaker wolves, planting insidious seeds of influence before they even realized what was happening.

But I couldn’t dwell on her machinations just yet.

I murmured my thanks to the maid and stepped around her, my heart racing as I made my way toward the healer’s den. The hallways buzzed with frenetic energy, whispers bouncing off the walls, far too restless for this hour of the morning. Everyone was alert, everyone was on edge. I moved swiftly, driven by an urgent need to see Elijah for myself, to quell the part of me that replayed the sound of his strained breathing and the image of his wolf flickering like a dying ember.

As I stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit me like a splash of cold water, jolting me fully awake. The healer’s den was a collection of softly lit cabins, nestled just beyond the main courtyard, a sanctuary far removed from the commotion of the pack house.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and my gaze landed on my mother first. She looked weary, the shadows under her eyes betraying her exhaustion, but there was a steadiness about her that hadn’t been there the night before. I nodded to a few elders who bowed respectfully as I passed.

Entering Elijah’s designated room, I expected to find him resting on the bed where I’d left him, cocooned in blankets, deep in slumber as his body worked to heal from the trauma he had endured.

But the bed was empty.

A cold wave of panic washed over me, and my heart lurched painfully in my chest. I blinked hard, willing the scene to rearrange itself, as if my mere focus could conjure him back into existence.

The sheets were rumpled, the pillow still held the faint impression of his head. On the floor, half-hidden beneath the leg of the nightstand, lay his shirt—discarded carelessly, as though he had shed it in a hurry.

“Elijah?” My voice, though soft, reverberated in the silence, echoing back to me like a ghost.

Silence was my only answer. I stepped further into the room, my senses heightened, fingers tingling with the instinct to shift if the situation demanded it. Why wasn’t he in bed? Why was his shirt on the floor?

Why?…

Suddenly, warm hands encircled my waist from behind, firm yet gentle, and a breath—hot and familiar—brushed against the side of my neck.

My wolf recognized him before I even turned around.

I let out a startled yelp, and Elijah chuckled softly against my ear, loosening his grip so I could face him. “You’re awfully jumpy this morning,” he teased, amusement dancing in his eyes.