His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 36

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**

**Chapter 36**

**Claire’s POV**

“Claire…”

His voice pierced the silence once more, this time rougher, laced with an urgency that sent a shiver down my spine.

I stood frozen in place, my gaze fixed on the vague outline of his silhouette behind the curtain that separated us. For a fleeting moment, I questioned my sanity, wondering if I had conjured the sound in my mind. But then, he called out again, his voice echoing in the dimness.

“Claire…”

This was no figment of my imagination. The change in his tone was unmistakable—it was no longer the soft whisper I had heard earlier, but a raw, broken plea, as if the word itself was being forcibly extracted from him.

My instinct screamed at me to pull the blanket tighter around myself and feign ignorance, but the sheer panic woven into his voice twisted my stomach into knots.

“Elijah?” I whispered, the name slipping from my lips like a prayer.

Silence enveloped the room.

Then came a small, choked gasp from his side, followed by a low growl that raised the hairs on my arms, sending a chill racing down my spine.

I hesitated, caught in a moment of indecision, before swinging my legs off the bed. The cold floor sent a jolt through my body as I tiptoed towards the curtain, my fingers clammy as I gripped its edge.

He called for me again, louder this time, desperation coloring his voice.

What on earth was happening?

My heart should have been racing, pounding against my chest like a drum, but oddly, I felt a strange calm wash over me, as if I instinctively knew that whatever was unfolding was not a physical threat.

With a deep breath, I pulled the curtain aside.

What I saw made my breath hitch in my throat. Elijah was thrashing on his side of the bed, his face contorted in anguish, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His fingers were clenched tightly in the sheets, muscles taut as if he were battling an unseen foe.

“Elijah…” I whispered again, stepping closer, my heart aching for him.

He remained unresponsive, only emitting another pained noise, a half-growl that made my wolf whimper softly within me.

In that moment, clarity struck me like lightning—he was caught in the throes of a nightmare.

I felt an overwhelming urge to intervene; standing idly by while he suffered felt profoundly wrong.

“Hey,” I murmured, leaning closer to him, my voice gentle. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

But he didn’t respond. His breathing grew more erratic, his head tossing from side to side, as if he were trapped in a world of terror that his waking life could never replicate.

Before I could think twice, my hand reached out, brushing his hair away from his forehead. The texture surprised me, and my fingers instinctively delved deeper into his hair.

The moment my fingers sank into the soft strands, I froze.

It was unbelievably soft—thicker than I had anticipated, and radiating warmth that felt almost intoxicating against my cold skin.

He exhaled sharply at my touch, his body momentarily stilling as if he had been jolted awake. Gradually, the tension began to ebb from his shoulders, the lines of distress on his face softening, and his fists unclenching from the sheets.

I swallowed hard, mesmerized as I watched him breathe.

I couldn’t pull my hand away. My fingers continued to glide through his hair, moving with a gentle rhythm that felt instinctual, almost as if it were meant to be. It was a strange, terrifying sense of normalcy.

With each stroke, his breathing steadied, the nightmare retreating into the shadows until it vanished entirely.

He lay completely still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

A wave of relief washed over me like a soft, warm blanket. My hand lingered on his head, and for reasons I couldn’t comprehend, I didn’t withdraw.

Instead, I leaned back slightly against the edge of the bed, still seated beside him.

He looked so different like this. Gone was the arrogance, the sharpness, the mockery. In this moment, he appeared quiet, peaceful, and vulnerable.

My wolf stirred within me, content and warm, and I let my head fall against the wall, surrendering to the soothing rhythm of his breathing, which lulled me into a gentle daze.

The last thing I remembered was the weight of my hand resting in his hair, a strange comfort enveloping me before sleep pulled us both under its spell.

Morning arrived with unyielding brightness.

Sunlight streamed through the window in pale streaks, warming my skin, and the instant my eyes fluttered open, the reality of my surroundings struck me.

I was still seated by Elijah’s bed.

Awkwardly slumped, my arm half draped across him.

Still touching his hair.

“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath, straightening up with a sudden jolt. My neck protested with a dull ache, and I winced, rubbing it as I attempted to stand.

That was when he stirred.

For a fleeting moment, I thought he was still lost in sleep. But then his eyes snapped open, bright and cold, filled with an intensity that felt painfully awake.

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