His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 121

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King 121**

**Chapter 121**

**Claire’s POV**

I hardly had a moment to collect my thoughts before the atmosphere in the room shifted once more, overtaken by the feverish energy of the sketches.

Theo’s hands moved with a frenetic intensity, as if an unseen force was guiding him. The pencil darted across the page, capturing fleeting impressions and fragmented memories that seemed to dance just beyond his grasp. The onlookers leaned in, their whispers a soft murmur at the edges of the room, but my gaze remained locked on the lines that began to materialize on the paper.

When Theo finally laid his pencil down, a heavy silence enveloped us. My heart plummeted before a single word was uttered. The image wasn’t just a vague silhouette; it was disturbingly detailed, enough to send chills racing down my spine.

“I know this person,” an elder murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. My head jerked up, a rush of anticipation coursing through me. The tension in the air was palpable, and even my wolf stirred uneasily within me. The figure sketched on the page was unmistakable—a senior warrior, one of the elite guards. Impossible. Yet, Theo’s expression was grave, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated fear that left no room for doubt.

“That’s who I remember,” he spoke softly, almost as if he were confiding in himself, but the gravity of his words demanded attention. There was no denying the certainty in his gaze, a conviction that weighed heavily on my heart. I sank deeper into my chair, my fingers curling tightly in my lap. Naomi. I was convinced it had been her.

What on earth was happening?

The pack sprang into action with a sense of urgency. They wasted no time in deliberating; the warrior was summoned without hesitation. The atmosphere thickened, every heartbeat echoing like a drum against my ribs.

When he entered, tall and formidable, his uniform pristine, he surveyed the room with an air of calm authority that typically commanded respect. My eyes were riveted on him, trying to decipher the emotions flitting across his face, searching for the reason behind the turmoil churning in my gut.

The sketch was presented before him, and every eye in the room was fixed on his reaction. I caught a flicker of something—was it recognition or mere calculation?—cross his features. He remained silent for a moment, scrutinizing the drawing as if weighing his options, deciding whether to deceive us or not. “I don’t know who that is,” he finally declared, his voice steady, too composed. “I have nothing to do with this. My loyalty lies with Ethan and this pack. I’ve served faithfully for years. I would never—”

“Your pencil just drew it!” Theo interjected, his voice sharp and accusing as he pointed at the sketch. “It’s you. It’s you! Don’t deny it!” The tremor in his voice was a mix of fear and rage, his eyes wide, lips pressed together in a thin line. The tension in the room escalated, palpable as static electricity.

“I told you, it’s not me!” the warrior retorted, his voice rising slightly, betraying a hint of desperation. “I’ve never—” He faltered, swallowing hard, his gaze darting around the room. “I would never betray the pack. Never.” His hands flexed at his sides, but his stance remained unyielding.

And then… Elijah stirred.

I felt his presence before I saw him. The air crackled with an electric charge, a palpable shift that sent a shiver down my spine. His wolf surged within him, stretching the very limits of the room, and instinctively, I knew that when I caught sight of him, the fragile balance we maintained could shatter at any moment.

He stepped into the doorway, his eyes ablaze with a fierce intensity, and without thinking, I lunged forward, gripping his arm tightly. “Elijah, stop. Don’t—”

But he didn’t hear me. He didn’t even glance my way. His focus was fixed on the sketch, the warrior, the unyielding tension, and in that instant, something within him snapped. The air vibrated with the raw, untamed power of his wolf. He growled low in his throat, teeth bared, and in a heartbeat, he lunged at the man before us.

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