His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

**Claire’s POV**

The journey to the safe house unfolded in a suffocating silence that felt almost tangible, pressing against my chest like an unwelcome weight.

It was the kind of quiet that heightened every sense, making me acutely aware of each breath I took, each stray thought that flitted through my mind, begging to be ignored.

The SUV cruised along the winding forest roads, its headlights cutting through the blackness like a knife. I nestled in the back seat, my chin resting against the cool glass, watching the world outside dissolve into a blur of shadows and shapes.

Mom occupied the passenger seat beside Ethan, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. Every few moments, I caught her casting anxious glances at him, as if she half-expected him to turn around and declare that this was all just a terrible nightmare that would soon fade away.

But deep down, I knew that was a fantasy.

I shifted in my seat, the seatbelt digging into my shoulder, and let out a slow, quiet breath.

Please, Moon Goddess, grant me this one wish: let there be an extra room.

If there was ever a moment when I deserved mercy for my past mistakes, it was now. Just one spare bed that didn’t come with Elijah Daniels occupying it.

Because sharing a vehicle with him felt like a special kind of torture.

He was seated in the front, behind Ethan and just a few feet away from me, his hand resting on the window, his posture rigid and unyielding.

His scent wafted back toward me—cedar and the crispness of winter air—every time the wind shifted. Even from my position in the back, I could sense the electric tension radiating off him, as if he was exerting every ounce of effort to avoid existing in the same space as I was.

Fine by me.

I had no desire to be near him either.

Okay, maybe that was a lie. But I wanted to want that.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a fleeting moment and pressed my forehead against the cool glass, seeking solace in the chill.

In the past week alone, I had fainted twice, narrowly escaped death once, endured humiliation in front of half my school, and now I was being forced into a situation where I had to share a room with the one person whose very voice could drive me to the brink of insanity.

A normal life felt like a distant fairytale I had unwittingly stumbled out of.

The drive seemed to stretch endlessly, the dark canopy of trees above us slowly giving way to soft silver as the moon ascended higher in the sky. Finally, Ethan slowed the car, and the dense woods parted to reveal tall iron gates, shimmering faintly with runic wards that whispered of ancient protection.

The safe house loomed ahead, bathed in a soft, inviting white light.

Okay, let’s be honest—it wasn’t just a house.

It was a mansion, smaller than the Alpha’s estate but no less majestic. The kind of structure that exuded authority and power. Thick stone walls rose high, sharp-angled roofs pointed toward the heavens, and golden trims caught the moonlight like jewels.

Mom let out a breath beside me. “I had forgotten how grand this place really is.”

Ethan nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Only royals and high-ranking wolves use it now. You’ll be safe here.”

Only royals.

No wonder it felt like a museum dedicated to power.

As soon as we parked, attendants—mostly warriors—appeared as if summoned, ready to take our bags. Inside, I could already hear the murmur of families conversing in hushed tones, guards standing vigilant at the doors, and a few omegas darting through the halls with trays laden with food and linen.

Fragments of whispered conversations drifted to me as we passed.

“Alpha’s family—”

“The Luna-to-be—”

“Why are they here?”

Mom held her chin high, her eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the murmurs that sliced through the air like tiny, invisible knives. I mimicked her posture, even though the words pricked at my skin.

Elijah walked ahead of us, his silence thick and heavy, a storm concealed beneath a mask of composure. Every so often, I felt the faint pulse of his wolf brushing against mine, restrained yet alert, as if it sensed the tension in the air.

We reached the upper corridor where the guest rooms were located. A maid led us down the hall and halted before three doors, turning to us with an apologetic expression.

“Demarcation,” he replied curtly. “You stay on that side. I stay on mine.”

He found two old hooks and fastened the curtain between them, creating a flimsy barrier that divided the bed—and the air—into two distinct halves.

I crossed my arms, unimpressed. “Wow. Very professional of you.”

He didn’t even glance up. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, and you can’t either. You faint if the wind blows too hard.”

The retort that bubbled up inside me died before it could escape my lips. I hated that he was right.

“Fine,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes. “Enjoy your side.”

I turned away, unbuttoning my uniform jacket. He was already perched at the far end of his side, scrolling through his phone, muttering something low to one of his teammates about “the pack situation” and “dad’s safety protocols.”

I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, desperate to think of something—anything—else.

But instead, my thoughts kept circling back to that ridiculous curtain, that absurd bed, and the infuriating boy on the other side of it.

After a while, I sat up, an idea sparking in my mind—I needed a shower. Maybe if I soaked long enough, I could wash away the exhaustion, or at least the memory of his voice telling me I didn’t belong.

I grabbed some clothes and padded quietly toward the bathroom on my side of the divider.

The water was warm, almost too warm, and I let it cascade over me, allowing the world to blur at the edges. The steam enveloped my body like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in hours, I could breathe without feeling the weight of anxiety tightening around my chest.

When I finished, I wrapped myself in a towel, wrung out my hair, and stepped back into the cool air of the room. The curtain rustled gently in the draft. I thought I heard faint movement on the other side but chose to ignore it.

My mind was heavy with thoughts of my mom, the riot, and the moment when Elijah had caught me before that pack member could strike.

I moved toward the small dresser, running my fingers through my damp hair, when I turned—

And froze.

Elijah stood at the bathroom door on his side, a towel hanging low around his waist, water still trickling down his chest. His hair was damp, tousled in dark waves, and his expression was caught somewhere between surprise and annoyance.