His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 117

**Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 117**

**Claire’s POV**

The moment I opened my eyes the next day, an unsettling sensation washed over me, a feeling that something was fundamentally amiss.

Elijah was absent from his customary spot where the morning light spilled through the windows, casting golden rays across the training yard. Usually, I’d find him pacing, stretching, or softly muttering to himself, lost in the rhythm of his own thoughts. But today, an oppressive weight filled the air, a heat that pressed down on my chest like a heavy blanket, almost suffocating me. This was not the familiar energy he exuded; it was something darker, something that sent a chill down my spine.

My wolf stirred within me, a low growl reverberating in my mind, urging me to tread carefully. Yet, despite the warning, an insatiable need propelled me forward. I had to find him. I had to uncover the truth behind this unsettling shift.

As I moved towards the training yard, I spotted him leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched like a vice. His gaze was unfocused, as if he were staring into a void far beyond the physical world. The moment our eyes met, I sensed a shift in him, a crackling tension beneath his skin, like the electric charge before a storm.

His eyes flickered with a faint glow, but it wasn’t the playful spark that often startled new recruits or amused me during our training sessions. No, this was something altogether different—a fierce intensity that burned into my chest, igniting my wolf’s instincts and stealing my breath away for a heartbeat.

“Elijah,” I called out softly, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper. Although my words were gentle, the tension between us was palpable, vibrating in the air like a taut string ready to snap.

He jerked his head up, and the sudden awareness in his gaze struck me like a physical blow. “Claire,” he replied, his tone clipped and sharp. Yet, beneath that facade, his chest was rising and falling unevenly, a subtle hitch that betrayed him. He attempted to steady himself, to smooth the lines of tension etched across his face, but I could see through the mask he wore. I could feel the turmoil roiling just beneath the surface.

“I—uh—are you okay?” The question slipped from my lips, smaller than I’d intended, laced with uncertainty. But I needed to know.

“I’m fine,” he shot back, almost too quickly, the lie hanging heavily in the air between us. I knew him well enough to sense the tremor in his voice, the way his aura whispered truths he tried to suppress. It radiated from him, a flickering light of distress that made my wolf growl softly, its unease echoing my own.

I couldn’t help but step closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “You’re not fine,” I insisted gently. “Does your wound hurt? Did something happen that you’re not telling me?”

He stiffened, the familiar defensive posture he always adopted when I pressed him. But this time, it felt different—more serious, more urgent.

His aura flickered, and I swallowed hard, my heart racing not just from fear but from a frantic, unnameable longing. I could feel that he wanted me closer, even as he fought to keep his turmoil hidden from my sight.

Just as I opened my mouth to push further, Ethan’s voice echoed from the far end of the hall, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Elijah,” he called, his brow furrowed in concern. The worry etched on his face sent a pang through my chest. “There’s been rogue activity at the eastern borders. They’re watching, not attacking, but be cautious.”

I watched as Elijah’s shoulders tensed, a ripple of energy coursing through him like an electric current. He exhaled sharply, dismissively, but his gaze remained locked on mine. I could feel the fire simmering beneath his calm exterior, threatening to explode, and my wolf whimpered in response.

Something was brewing—something I dreaded yet couldn’t look away from.

Eventually, we found ourselves in the training yard, a place that had always been our sanctuary, but today felt charged with unspoken tension. Elijah insisted on sparring, his clipped tone brooking no argument, as if to say, “Don’t worry about me.” He was determined to prove he was fine, and I wanted to believe him, even as doubt gnawed at my insides.

Our sparring began in the usual rhythm—punches thrown, blocks made, dodges executed. The wind whipped around us, brushing against my skin, invigorating yet unsettling. But halfway through, I sensed a drastic shift. Elijah’s muscles coiled tight, a storm brewing behind his eyes, and I braced myself for what was to come.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify