His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 205

Chapter 205

Chapter 205

Claire’s POV

The moment Elijah hit the ice and didn’t get back up, the entire rink seemed to inhale and forget how to breathe.

The buzzer hadn’t even sounded yet.

There were still twenty-three seconds left on the clock-overtime, tied at 2-2.

Ridgeview had their goalie pulled, desperation sharpening every movement on the ice.

The crowd was on its feet, roaring, stomping, chanting in broken rhythm.

Elijah had just blocked a shot near the blue line, spinning slightly as the puck ricocheted off his pads. He cleared the zone cleanly, exactly the way he always did-efficient, controlled, fearless.

Then Mason Reed came in late.

Too late.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t accidental. Reed slammed his stick and shoulder into Elijah’s back in a vicious cross-check, well after the whistle, driving him forward with full force.

The crack of impact echoed across the rink, sharp and ugly.

I felt it in my chest like a blow.

Elijah went down hard. His helmet bounced against the ice, his body folding in on itself in a way that made my vision blur instantly.

It wasn’t the normal stumble-and-roll I’d seen a hundred times before. This was wrong.

The ref’s whistle shrieked immediately, long and angry. Arms went up. Penalties were called. None of it mattered.

The roar of the crowd fractured into gasps and murmurs, noise draining away as people realized Elijah wasn’t moving. Players froze mid-glide.

Even Ridgeview stopped celebrating their advantage, heads turning toward the crumpled form on the ice.

I was on my feet before I knew I’d stood.

My hands gripped the railing so hard my knuckles burned, my nails biting into metal.

My heartbeat slammed in my ears, too loud, too fast, threatening to spiral out of control. For one horrifying second, I couldn’ t tell if he was breathing.

“Claire…” Jessica’s voice trembled beside me as she grabbed my arm. Her face was pale, eyes wide and locked on the ice.

I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look away from him.

Down below, the trainer rushed out, skates slicing sharply as he dropped to his knees beside Elijah.

Another followed. They spoke quickly, urgently, hands moving to stabilize his head, his neck. Elijah’s teammates circled him instinctively, forming a wall-protective, tense, furious.

Across the ice, Ridgeview skated back toward their bench.

Mason Reed didn’t even look apologetic.

He smirked.

Rage flared hot and violent in my chest, but fear drowned it out almost immediately.

“Is he moving?” Mom asked from the row below us. Her voice shook so badly it barely sounded like her.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because I didn’t know.

Elijah wasn’t getting up. His legs lay still. His arms were slack at his sides. The trainer checked his neck, his head, speaking loudly now-calling for the stretcher.

That word sliced through me.

Stretcher.

My wolf surged inside me, wild and frantic, slamming against the walls of my control.

Elijah.

Chapter 205

Hurt.

Need him. Need to get to him.

Every instinct screamed at me to jump the railing, to get onto the ice, to be there. To touch him. To make sure he was alive. My chest burned with the effort of staying still, staying human.

The stretcher finally came out. Medical staff moved fast, efficient, practiced in the kind of calm that comes from too much experience.

They fitted a neck brace around Elijah carefully, stabilizing him before lifting him inch by inch.

His eyes opened.

The sight nearly broke me.

He blinked against the harsh lights, confusion crossing his face. When someone asked him a question, his lips moved. I saw him lift a hand weakly, like he was trying to wave them off, trying to say he was fine.

I I F

He wasn’t fighting, though.

That scared me more than anything else.

As they placed him onto the stretcher, the crowd found its voice again-not cheers, not anger, but a chant.

“El-i-jah. El-i-jah.”

It rolled through the rink, desperate and aching, hundreds of voices trying to hold him up when his body couldn’t. They wheeled him off the ice slowly, carefully. The game had dissolved into something distant and irrelevant.

The ref announced a delay, but no one was watching the clock anymore.

Jessica tugged me back down into my seat, her hands cold as ice. “He’s awake, she said firmly, like she was reminding herself as much as me. “That’s good. Claire, that’s good.”

I nodded, but tears were already spilling down my face, blurring everything. My hands shook as I wiped them away uselessly.

My phone buzzed.

Mom was already texting Ethan-Hospital. Now.

The game resumed eventually. I barely noticed.

The players skated harder than before, anger and fear driving them, but the spark was gone.

The crowd was subdued, cheering half-heartedly, eyes flicking to the tunnel Elijah had disappeared into.

Ridgeview scored with three seconds left.

3-2.

The buzzer sounded. The game ended.

No one from our side celebrated. Helmets came off slowly. Sticks tapped the ice once in hollow acknowledgment before players skated off.

We were already gone.

Mom drove like she was holding herself together by sheer will, hands tight on the steering wheel.

I sat in the passenger seat, staring at my phone, refreshing messages that didn’t exist yet. Every red light felt cruel. Every second stretched thin and unbearable.

Twenty minutes had never felt so long.

The pack’s General’s ER was chaos-sirens, voices, fluorescent lights too bright for the knot of dread lodged in my chest. When we gave Elijah’s name, everything shifted. Staff exchanged looks, then ushered us into a private waiting area.

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