His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

**Claire’s POV**

When I finally opened my eyes, an unexpected calm washed over me.

Instead of pain, there was sound—a distant melody, soft and ethereal, as though the world had been submerged beneath a tranquil sea. A singular note of static hummed around me, a low vibration that could have been the rhythmic pulse of a heart monitor or the distant rumble of thunder echoing far away.

Behind my closed eyelids, light flickered, colors swirling and twisting in an unnameable dance, reminiscent of smoke curling in the air.

Was this what it felt like to be dead?

No, not yet. But I certainly wasn’t in a place I recognized, and I was definitely not in the physical realm I once knew.

Something tethered me here, a delicate thread that felt like a rope entwined around the edges of my ribs. Each tug sent waves of both pain and comfort coursing through me, a strange juxtaposition that left me disoriented.

Then, amidst the hazy blur, a familiar scent wafted toward me—oil paint. The metallic tang of brushes I hadn’t touched in what felt like an eternity filled my senses, stirring something deep within.

As I blinked, the world around me began to crystallize, reshaping itself into something achingly familiar. I found myself standing barefoot in the garden behind our old house.

The grass glimmered with an impossible shade of green, vibrant and alive, while the golden afternoon light bathed everything in warmth. Laughter floated from the porch, rich and full, and I felt an irresistible pull toward it.

Before I could even process my thoughts, I turned.

And there he was—my father, just as I remembered him. The sunlight caught the brown strands of his hair, illuminating them like woven gold, and his old wristwatch gleamed on his arm, a relic of time that had never seemed to leave him. When he looked up, that wide, soft smile of his spread across his face, the kind that made everything in the world feel right.

“Pumpkin,” he called, his voice drifting over the gentle breeze. “You’re late for our lesson.”

I froze, confusion flooding my mind. “Lesson?”

He chuckled, a warm sound that wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

In that moment, memories surged back to me—the paint set he had promised, the one that had arrived just two days before the accident shattered everything.

He was already settled beside the easel, one leg tucked beneath him, exuding a sense of calm that made my heart race. Next to him, on the stool, was the box of paints I had longed for, new and unopened, glimmering with endless possibilities. Art had always been my first love, my sanctuary.

I knelt beside him, my heart racing wildly in my chest. My fingers brushed over the paint set, and I gasped as the warmth radiated from it, feeling achingly real.

“You kept your promise,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion.

“Of course I did.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, the smile deepening. “A promise is a promise, Claire.”

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint, sharp scent of rain, a reminder of impending change.

For a fleeting heartbeat, I wanted to believe this was real. That somehow, I had woken up in the past, that everything that had transpired since then was merely a bad dream from which I would awaken.

But then, the light began to dim.

A tremor rippled through the ground beneath me. I looked up, and the once bright clouds had turned heavy and gray, pregnant with rain.

Dad still smiled, but now there was a sadness woven into that smile, a hint of knowing. “You know what happens next.”

My throat tightened, panic rising within me. “No—”

He reached for me, but the distance between us stretched impossibly, like glass warping under intense heat.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the deafening sounds of screeching tires, the shattering of glass, and my mother’s terrified scream.

“Dad!” I cried, sprinting forward, the grass slick beneath my feet, the air chilling to the bone. “Dad, please!”

But with every step, time slowed, and each breath felt like it was being pulled from my lungs, heavy and labored.

He was so close, just inches away, reaching back for me—but no matter how desperately I pushed, I couldn’t bridge that gap. My heart screamed within my chest, frantic and shattering.

And then, in an instant, he was gone.

The rain came down in torrents, a relentless deluge that washed away the world around me.

I sank to my knees, my hair clinging to my face, the once vibrant paints bleeding into colorless puddles at my feet.

“Why did you leave?” The words tumbled out, broken and raw. “You said you’d come back. You said—”

Lightning split the sky, and the world fractured once more.

I blinked, and suddenly, I was transported to an entirely different place.

The air was saturated with the scent of pine and firewood, and the hall of the pack house stretched out before me, adorned with golden banners that fluttered gently. At the far end, my mother stood, her hand intertwined with Ethan’s, their faces illuminated by a soft, warm light, radiating happiness.

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