Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Azrael’s POV

*****

Beach House, 8:55 Am

He sat on a wooden chair, unable to take his eyes away from the person lying on the bed.

Celeste.

Her eyes were shut, chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. Reassurance that she was alive and okay.

It’s been centuries since he felt this... Ache in his chest. The same ache that meant the one thing he loathed feeling and saw as a mere tool.

Fear.

The fear of losing her to whatever happened minutes ago gripped him like a devil’s claw.

When her outburst broke through the bonds—he’d dropped his wine glass in a heartbeat and rushed toward her room. Only to notice something stirring in him.

Shadows engulfed the room he was in before he could leave. Whispers and cries from lives he’s taken echoed in his ears in a way that had made him stagger.

"Murderer!"

"You promised."

"Please."

And for the first time in millennia... Azrael Vaelmont felt guilty.

Now sitting beside a clothed Celeste after experiencing all that made him begin questioning himself.

This woman has changed him. Opened up scars and made him utterly vulnerable.

The mere fact that he was sitting by her side, eager to see her wake up while Atlas was outside preparing a calming and healing potion was enough proof.

"Little miss," Azrael picked up her hands from her chest, pressing a soft kiss. "You’re strong. I know you know that too. Whatever happened to you—it will not break you."

Her eyelashes shifted but remained shut.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Silas and Luther rushed in. "Is she—"

"Do not disturb her," Azrael warned icily, his grip slipping hesitantly away from her hands. "We can’t afford her being unstable again."

The brothers got to the bed regardless, Silas standing beside him while Luther fixed himself on the other side. Both wolves stared down at Celeste, distraught.

"A–Atlas said she collapsed when you two managed to get to her room," Silas mumbled, head tilting to Azrael. "We came as soon as we could after purchasing his items."

"We shouldn’t have left," Luther shook his head. "Gods, if I were by her side. If I didn’t try avoiding—"

"No need to blame yourself, Alpha." Azrael sighed, arms folding in front of his chest. "Our mate won’t want that. And I believe this would’ve occurred regardless."

Luther’s fists clenched beside his body despite his words.

Azrael let him process things.

They all needed that.

Soon, the door opened again, this time ushering Atlas into the room. The witch held a tray with what appeared to be smoothies, sweat and worry taut on his features.

"Anyone else want some smoothies? No? Just me then." He managed a small smile. Then he focused on Azrael. "How is she?"

The latter shook his head. "Still hasn’t woken up. But she’s stable."

Atlas dropped the tray on the lamp stand, grabbing a glass for himself. "She should have one of these when she wakes up. The spices and herbs I mixed in help with vitality and mental clarity."

All Azrael did was nod once.

Good to know.

He brought his head back to Celeste as they stayed silent. Images swam through his mind when he stared too long at her heart-shaped face.

Seeing her like this reminded him of a woman. One whose death took away the last shred of his humanity millennia ago.

’I can’t stand this.’ he thought to himself, rising to his feet. "I’ll go take some fresh air for a minute or two."

The Hale brothers barely acknowledged him while Atlas questioned. "Aren’t you going to take—?" He gestured at the smoothie but Azrael shook his head.

A mere beverage won’t calm the storm in his undead heart.

By the time he stepped out of the room, a shivering breath left his mouth. He brushed a hand through his hair as he kept on moving down the hallway.

He trailed his fingers on the railing while descending down the steps. For a fleeting second, he caught shadows creeping from the corner of his eyes.

Waiting.

Eventually, he got outside, exhaling like the world’s pressure had restrained him inside the beach house.

As he lumbered down the stone pathway leading to the sand and ocean—a familiar feeling swelled in his head. Like someone attempting to reach out telepathically.

His eyes widened, footsteps halting when he spotted a figure standing at the very end of the stone pathway.

An old woman.

Wrinkled face. Long grey hair adorned with beads and shells. A shabby green outfit. And a smile and aura that managed to unsettle even him.

A wave of recognition slammed into his head. "M–Master?"

The High one!

Although she was unable to appear in her true body since the Vein re-emergence, she was still capable of sending projections of herself.

Like she did wearing Lysandra’s mother’s face.

The question is... What was she doing here?

Her smile only broadened, hawk-like eyes swatting past him and locking on the beach house. "Finally," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "The time is nigh. She answered the pull."

Azrael couldn’t ask what she meant.

All he could do was stand there like the loyal servant he was, fingers biting his palms.

Soon enough, the old woman brought her gaze back to him. "Keep threading the path of the bond, my poison. Keep following it’s chaotic dance."

The wind picked up speed, clouds thickening above. Her clothes whipped into the air as her smile turned into a grin.

Just like that, her voice, presence and form faded into the wind. Leaving no trace behind.

Not even footprints.

As the clouds receded faster than they came, Azrael grimly glanced over his shoulder, taking in the beach house. The bond flared almost instantly.

Without thinking, he darted back toward the living room door. ’Don’t tell me she did something to her. Gods, Celeste...’

For the first time in twenty years, he didn’t just question the High One’s plans. He dreaded whatever it was.