His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 71

**Chapter 71**

**Claire’s POV**

As the first light of dawn began to seep through my bedroom window, I stirred awake, the remnants of sleep still clinging to me like a heavy blanket. Rubbing my temples, I felt an all-too-familiar knot of tension coiling in my stomach. My phone, perched on the nightstand, blinked with an urgency that felt almost palpable. I reached for it, my heart quickening as I saw Naomi’s name flash across the screen. The message read: *Call me. Now.*

Panic surged through me even before I could fully grasp the weight of her words. I snatched the phone up, my voice shaky as I pressed the call button. “Naomi? What—”

“Claire. You have to come. Now.” Her voice was sharp, tinged with a frenetic energy that sent chills racing down my spine. “It’s Elijah. Something’s happened. Just… come.”

“Wait, slow down. What happened?” I pressed, my stomach twisting into a tight knot of worry.

She didn’t linger on details, her words tumbling out in a hurried barrage as she rattled off an address that left no room for questions. My hands trembled as I hastily pulled on my coat and boots, my hair hastily gathered into a messy ponytail. I didn’t spare a thought for breakfast or the eerie silence of the empty house. My heart was already racing, a wild drumbeat of dread echoing in my ears.

The drive to the scene felt surreal, a blur of red lights and crawling traffic. My mind raced with a torrent of possibilities, spinning faster than the wheels beneath me. What could have happened? Just last night, Elijah had been calm, joking, perhaps a bit tired, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And now, I was drowning in uncertainty, fear gripping me tightly.

When I finally arrived, the scene before me was chaotic, filled with unfamiliar faces and an atmosphere thick with tension. The street was bustling near a pharmacy, and I barely had time to process why he would be there. Neighbors huddled together, their whispers barely audible over the palpable anxiety in the air. As I stepped out of the car, a uniformed officer approached me, his demeanor all business.

“You Claire?” he asked, his voice clipped and official.

“Yes. What—”

“You need to stay back. He’s in the back. Paramedics are on site.”

The word *paramedics* hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I dropped my bag and coat, urgency propelling me forward as I pushed past the caution tape. Just then, Naomi’s hand clamped down on my wrist, her grip firm and unyielding.

“He’s conscious. He’s stable, but you can’t just barge in,” she said, her face pale, yet her voice was steady. “They won’t let anyone near him until they finish their assessment.”

I struggled to steady my breathing, forcing myself to calm my racing thoughts. “What happened? Please tell me.”

Naomi shook her head, her expression grave. “It was… a break-in. Someone came for him.”

The world tilted at her words, and a cold wave washed over me, my stomach plummeting. *For him?* “He’s okay?”

“For now. But Claire… you need to see this.” She guided me toward the rear window of the store. I froze, my eyes widening at the sight. The back door frame was shattered, jagged pieces of wood jutting out like sharp teeth. Footprints marred the damp earth, leading ominously toward the woods beyond the garden.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “Why… who…?”

“I don’t know,” Naomi replied, pulling me inside the store. “He was outside checking a noise. They didn’t stick around long. But they left… something.” She gestured toward a table. My gaze followed, landing on a thick, unmarked envelope resting there.

My fingers hovered above it, instinctual dread coiling in my stomach. As I picked it up, I noted the neat handwriting, reminiscent of a student’s script. My heart raced as I read the chilling first line:

*You can’t protect him forever. He’s ours.*

I dropped the envelope as if it had burned my fingers. My mind screamed in disbelief. “Who… who would—?”

Naomi swallowed hard, her eyes wide with fear. “I… don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned anyone lately. No enemies that we know of.”

My eyes darted toward the living room, and there he was—Elijah, sitting on the couch, knees drawn up slightly, arms resting on them, hands clasped tightly. His demeanor was unnervingly calm, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.

“Elijah.” My voice caught in my throat, a mix of relief and dread flooding through me.

He looked up slowly, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I glimpsed the warmth from last night, the half-smile that had lit up his face. But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by that familiar hard, unreadable expression. “Claire,” he said, his voice low and measured.

I rushed to him, my hands hovering over his shoulders, desperate for reassurance. “You’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, but his eyes flicked toward the envelope and then away, as if it burned to look at it. “They didn’t touch me.”

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