His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 66

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**

**Chapter 66**

**Claire’s POV**

The morning unfolds with a gentle slowness, as if the world itself is reluctant to wake. A soft, pale light filters through the curtains, casting a serene glow in the room. I remain still for a few moments, allowing the sounds of the outside world to wash over me—the whispering wind and the distant creaking of the floorboards above, both familiar and comforting. Today, my mind feels clearer than it has in what seems like an eternity. There’s no ache, no restless dreams haunting my thoughts—only a profound stillness.

Eventually, I rise from the bed, the fabric of my simple pale dress sliding over my skin as I dress without much thought. It’s nothing elaborate, just a garment that feels easy to wear. I remind myself that this is merely another lesson to be learned, but as my fingers smooth the fabric before I step out, I can’t help but feel a flicker of concern about my appearance.

The house is enveloped in a tranquil silence. As I make my way past the kitchen, the lingering aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread wafts through the air, a reminder of the morning rituals that ground us. I approach the training room, where I can hear a faint rhythm of music pulsing softly behind the door.

Inside, Elijah is already present, standing near the expansive window. Sunlight dances through the glass, illuminating his hair and casting a warm glow on his skin. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he turns to face me as I enter.

“You’re early,” he remarks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, a small gesture of understanding. “Then this will wake you up.”

I glance at the table beside him, taking in the sight of scattered books, handwritten notes, and two steaming cups of coffee—one already half-empty. “You’ve been here long?” I inquire, curiosity piqued.

“Since sunrise. I had to make sure today doesn’t bore you,” he responds, a playful glint in his eyes.

“I doubt that’s possible,” I reply, a smirk creeping onto my face.

He gestures for me to come closer. “Good. Then prove it.”

I step in front of him, a playful challenge hanging in the air. “You’re not going to make me balance anything on my head, right?”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You’d look good trying.”

“Is that a yes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, a mischievous sparkle in his gaze. “You’ll find out.”

I shake my head, unable to suppress the smile tugging at my mouth. “You enjoy this more than you should.”

“Maybe because you argue more than my usual students,” he replies, his tone light.

“I’m your only student,” I remind him.

“Exactly,” he says, crossing to stand behind me. “I have a few comments about your posture. Keep your shoulders down. You rush when you walk, and it gives away your mood.”

“I don’t rush,” I protest, though I can feel the truth in his words.

“You do,” he insists, and I take a deliberate step across the room, moving slowly as if to prove him wrong. Halfway through, I lose my balance, and before I can correct myself, his hand finds its way to my waist, steadying me.

“Try again,” he says, his voice low and calm.

I nod, feeling the warmth of his hand linger there until I reach the other side of the room. The contact is brief yet comforting.

“Better,” he affirms, his tone encouraging.

“I feel like a puppet,” I admit, a hint of self-deprecation in my voice.

“You’re less wooden than before,” he counters, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm.

“Do you mean that as a compliment?” I ask, glancing back at him.

“Take it however you want,” he replies with a small smile.

We continue to practice until I finally manage to move without tripping over my own feet. When he finally declares, “Good,” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, relief flooding through me.

He picks up a glass of water from the table and hands it to me. “Now you look like you could survive an hour without collapsing.”

I take the glass, feeling the coolness against my palm. “You sound surprised.”

He sits down across from me, his demeanor shifting slightly. “You underestimate how difficult these lessons can be.”

“And you underestimate me,” I retort, a playful challenge in my tone.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and a comfortable silence stretches between us, neither of us feeling the need to fill it with words.

Elijah breaks the quiet first. “Next lesson—conversation. At the gala, you’ll need to engage with council members, elders, and people who will test your patience.”

“I already know how to talk,” I assert, crossing my arms defiantly.

“Not politely,” he shoots back, a teasing smirk on his face.

I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s rude.”

“Then you already failed,” he replies, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

I sigh, half-smiling. “Fine. Show me.”

He straightens, adopting a more serious demeanor. “Imagine I’m one of the elders. I ask you about your new position in the pack. How do you respond?”

I put on a mock polite smile. “I tell you it’s been… educational.”

“Educational?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I affirm, my tone light.

He chuckles softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You sound like you’re hiding something.”

“Probably that I don’t want to be there,” I admit, a hint of honesty slipping through.

He nods, acknowledging my candor. “At least you’re honest.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Not always. Some truths are better dressed up,” he replies, his tone thoughtful.

“Like yours?” I challenge, a playful glint in my eye.

He meets my gaze, amusement flickering across his features. “You think I lie often?”

“I think you’re good at it,” I tease back.

“Maybe I used to be,” he says quietly, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. I let the moment linger, sensing the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. “What’s next?” I prompt, redirecting the conversation.

He moves behind me, adjusting my stance with careful precision. His hands guide my shoulders until they align perfectly. “Keep your head up when you speak. Confidence isn’t just in the words; it’s in how you carry yourself.”

I nod, feeling the warmth of his hand linger just a moment longer before he steps back.

We go through more examples—how to greet someone properly, how to smile without it appearing forced, how to maintain control even when the atmosphere is chaotic. Each correction he offers is gentle yet firm, and I find myself surprised by his patience.

When he adjusts the way I hold my fork, his fingers brush against mine, light yet electric. My heart races at the contact, and I can tell he notices, pausing for a moment.

“You okay?” he asks, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Fine,” I reply too quickly, trying to mask my flustered state.

He nods, but I catch the corner of his mouth lifting in a barely contained smile.

An hour slips by before he finally declares, “That’s enough for now.”

I stretch my arms, feeling the tension ease from my muscles. “Do I pass?” I ask, a teasing tone in my voice.

“You’re not terrible,” he smirks, a playful challenge lingering in his eyes.

“That’s almost kind,” I respond, rolling my eyes.

He leans against the table, crossing his arms casually. “You learn fast.”

“I have a good teacher,” I say, a sincere compliment slipping from my lips.

That earns me the smallest of smiles from him. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

I take a seat on the edge of a nearby chair, feeling a mix of exhaustion and calm. “Can I ask something?” I venture.

“Go ahead,” he replies, his tone inviting.

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