Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Celeste’s POV

*****

Montecito, 3:50pm.

"Dear gods... why don’t we just order takeout?" Luther grunted when he walked into the living room, a hand on his stomach. "I feel like I could eat a whole stadium."

I tilted my head from the sofa that Silas and I sat on. "Aren’t you supposed to be resting? Silas can bring you your share in bed."

The Alpha’s face twitched like I suggested he’ll be given shit. "I’ll pass," he paused, blue eyes glinting with a familiar light. One I’ve seen back when we dated. "I’d prefer someone else giving me brunch in bed though."

Silas almost instantly tightened his hold on my shoulders while I blushed so hard I could evaporate.

Clearing my throat and trying to ignore the awkward air as Luther sat on a sofa opposite ours—I turned my head to the kitchen entrance.

Smoke was already sizzling out, Atlas’ unbothered humming reaching us as he cooked.

I smiled, sighing with expectations while my nose caught all the nice smells.

Aside from all that, one of the bonds pulsed with something melancholic. Heavy.

Azrael’s.

He was still outside last time I checked.

We... had a heated conversation when he helped me turn on the generator. One that made me realise no matter how much I pushed or tried, he’ll never be able to open up.

Not entirely anyway.

There were still things he was hiding from me. From all of us perhaps.

Things I felt would make me understand him better. Or forever paint him in a negative light like he keeps saying.

"Celeste?" Atlas called from the kitchen. "Would you like to have the first bite from this?"

I blinked once, glancing at Silas.

All he did was smile with a shrug while I already rose to my feet.

Moon be damned I seek anyone’s approval to have a taste of a good meal.

"Hey," I grinned when I reached the arched entrance, looking into the brightly lit kitchen. "What have you got for—wow."

Atlas stood beside the kitchen island, where a plethora of meals were set on trays, plates and bowls. In his hand was a plate with crispy chicken wings on it.

"Here." He gestured, picking up one of the wings. A finger tap on the hot wing cooled it down. "Tell me what you think. I fried these specifically for you."

I took it from him, sniffing for a second before I dug in. A small bite first. Letting the juicy flavours explode in my mouth. Then I took bigger bites, moaning silently against my will.

"Gods, this is delicious," I placed a hand over my mouth. "Why did we ever go to that restaurant in the first place?"

When I looked into his golden eyes, they shifted, almost avoiding mine. Like he was flustered by something I did or said—or trying to restrain himself.

Whatever it was, I found myself blushing hard as well, clearing my throat. "Anyway, if you were seeking my opinion... It’s good. Like really good."

My eyes scanned the other food and drinks on the island. "And I’m certain the rest of these won’t last thirty minutes on the dining table."

Atlas chuckled. "Knowing those wolves, I’d praise the stars if they lasted ten minutes."

I joined in the laughter, my heart at ease.

The restaurant brawl had ruined the vibe of the already suspicious vacation.

But this? The idea of all four of us eating together?

That might’ve just brought back just a spark of excitement.

Atlas followed my gaze to the island and exhaled slowly, like he was mentally arranging logistics. "Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders once. "Let’s move this before Luther starts gnawing on the furniture."

"Hey," Luther called from the living room. "I heard that."

I felt Silas approaching, his hands flexing like he was itching to help when he showed up at the kitchen entrance. "You want us to carry or...?" His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the trays.

Atlas’s lips curved. "Or."

I didn’t even realise I was smiling until the plates lifted.

Not dramatically—no flashes of power or theatrical displays. Just... smooth and controlled. Bowls rising gently from the island, trays gliding through the air like they weighed nothing.

Atlas guided them telekinetically with a subtle tilt of his wrist, Silas stepping aside and letting him do his thing.

I grabbed the lighter plates out of habit, even though I didn’t need to.

Together, we moved into the dining room.

Luther was already there, pulling out chairs with a little too much enthusiasm. "I swear, if this food tastes half as good as it smells, I might forgive you all for making me wait."

"For making you wait?" I echoed, arching a brow. "You walked in here five minutes ago."

"And it was the longest five minutes of my life," he replied solemnly, patting his stomach.

Silas laughed as he set down cutlery, aligning everything with neat precision. Atlas followed, easing the last tray onto the table before flicking his fingers. Napkins slid into place. Glasses shifted.

Everything settled.

For a moment, we all just... paused.

Standing around the table. No arguing. No tension snapping like live wires. Just quiet movement.

It hit me then—soft but heavy.

We look like a family.

The thought startled me enough that I had to swallow it down before it showed on my face. It was ridiculous. Dangerous, even.

Still.

Something warm curled in my chest as we took our seats. Luther immediately reached for the chicken, tearing into it with a satisfied groan. "Oh, yeah. This is worth it."

Atlas watched him with faint amusement before finally sitting. Silas leaned back, relaxed for once, eyes sweeping over us like he was cataloguing the moment.

And then—

"...Where’s Azrael?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

The table stilled.

Atlas’s gaze lifted to mine. "He should still be outside," he said after a beat. "I’ll go get him."

He pushed his chair back, but before he could stand, the living room door opened.

Azrael stepped inside.

His expression was neutral, his presence immediately shifting the air in the room. His eyes flicked briefly to the table—food, chairs, all of us—before he moved forward without comment.

He took the empty seat.

No greeting. No complaints. Just quiet compliance.

Something in my chest tightened.

I watched him as he reached for a plate, movements controlled. Like he was bracing for something to go wrong.

I forced a small smile and looked around the table instead.

Our first brunch.

Four bonds. One table. Too many emotions hovering and waiting to ignite.

I inhaled slowly, letting myself hope—just a little.

’Please. Let there be no drama.’ I thought to myself.