His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 41

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 41**

**Elijah’s POV**

The atmosphere in this hospital room is suffocating. The walls are an oppressive white, sterile and uninviting, and everything feels too clean, too quiet, save for the relentless hum of the machines surrounding her.

They hum softly, their lights blinking rhythmically, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing within me. Patience, they seem to whisper, though I am anything but patient.

I find myself standing at the edge of Claire’s hospital bed, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, trying to suppress the sound of my breathing, attempting to keep my heartbeat from shattering the unbearable silence that envelops us.

Claire lies there, motionless beneath the crisp sheets, her skin nearly blending with them. The only indicators of life are the faint blush of pink at the tip of her nose and the delicate rise and fall of her chest, both reminders that she is still here, tethered to this world.

My jaw clenches involuntarily.

I should leave this place. She doesn’t need me hovering over her like a specter.

Naomi is still engaged in conversation with the nurse, and I received a message from Dad, letting me know that he and Luna, Claire’s mother, are on their way.

Soon enough, they’ll arrive, and I’ll slip away into the shadows, pretending I never existed in this moment.

That’s the rational choice, isn’t it? Yet, my feet remain rooted to the ground.

Every time I attempt to avert my gaze, my wolf growls deep within my mind, a primal voice demanding my presence.

Stay.

This is a tone I’ve never encountered before—not at school, not in the safety of my home, nor even in the heat of battle or during grueling training sessions when blood spills and instincts scream for action. This isn’t mere anger; it feels like possession.

Frustrated, I rake a hand through my hair, muttering a curse under my breath.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” I whisper, my voice hoarse and strained.

Of course, there is no response.

Claire looks so serene, almost ethereal, as if the very act of blinking might cause her to disappear into thin air.

My fingers twitch with an overwhelming urge to reach out, to grasp her hand and feel the pulse beneath her skin, to reassure myself that she is still here, still fighting. But doing so would mean confronting a truth I’m not prepared to face. So, I suppress the impulse and focus my gaze on the sterile floor instead.

The harsh words I hurled at her in school claw their way back into my consciousness, and all I can feel is an overwhelming wave of guilt crashing over me.

Gods, I almost wish she would awaken and slap me across the face for what I said… anything would be better than this suffocating silence.

Just then, the door opens quietly behind me.

Naomi steps in first, her eyes rimmed with red, a clear sign of the tears she has been fighting. “They’re almost here,” she murmurs softly. “Your dad’s on his way up.”

I nod, still refusing to turn around.

“She… she’s going to be okay, right?” Naomi’s voice wavers, and finally, I turn to face her. She is the only innocent friend of Claire’s I know, and a part of me is relieved that it’s her who is here in this moment.

“She’s breathing,” I reply, my voice steady but filled with uncertainty. “That’s all I know.”

Naomi bites her lip, glancing back toward the door as she murmurs something about calling her mother before slipping back out.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with Claire once more.

And for the first time since our paths crossed, there are no arguments, no biting remarks, no sharp retorts. Just the soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filling the void.

It dawns on me then, that this is the sound of her calm, the sound of her heart not fighting against the odds.

When I’m not the one causing her pain.

I sink into the chair beside her bed, resting my elbows on my knees, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my chest, filled with emotions I cannot name or even begin to understand.

I hated her, didn’t I?

Time stretches painfully, each minute dragging by like molasses, filled with her mother whispering prayers to the Moon Goddess, Dad making calls for security updates, and Naomi lingering outside the glass window, refusing to re-enter.

And there I am, just sitting there, watching the girl who drives me to the brink of madness simply breathe.

At some point, Dad steps out to take a call, and her mother eventually drifts into a chair, exhaustion etching lines around her eyes.

I find myself the only one awake, the only one attuned to the soft hum of her heartbeat echoing through the monitor.

“Why you?” I whisper finally, my voice barely audible. “Why does it have to be you?”

I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, staring at her hand once more.

The light filtering through the window glints off the silver bracelet she always wears—the one she fidgets with when anxiety grips her. I’ve watched her do it countless times, even when I pretended not to notice.

Before I fully comprehend my actions, I reach out, my fingers brushing against hers, just barely making contact.

Her skin feels warm beneath my touch.

And the moment our skin connects, my wolf exhales, a long, shuddering sigh that reverberates through my very bones.

See? he murmurs softly. She’s ours to protect.

I shut my eyes tightly. “Stop saying that.”

I retract my hand abruptly, rising to my feet and pacing the confined space between the bed and the wall.

I need air. I need distance. I need to push aside the thoughts of how her hair looks against the pillow or how her breathing steadies when I’m near.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear a faint sound, so small and delicate that for a moment, I think I’ve imagined it.

“Elijah…”