Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Celeste’s POV

*****

Someone would think Silas and Azrael were throwing some sick prank if they overheard us.

But boy, oh boy... It was no prank.

They took us to the spot and sure enough there was no trace of a "Mama Dominique Metaphysical shop". Instead what we saw was an empty space where it was supposed to be.

Desperate, we questioned the shops around the spot if they’ve seen any old woman or heard of a store like that.

Sure enough, each store owner we went to looked at us like we’d lost our damn minds.

I knew I’d do the same if I were in their shoes.

"I’m telling you guys," Luther scratched his scalp as we walked back to the beach house, disappointed and exhausted. "She was real. She gave us the spices and herbs Atlas asked for and—"

"We believe you." Atlas and I said in unison. Then I added: "If she’s a witch, maybe she used illusion magic."

However, Silas shook his head. "That was no illusion."

"Exactly!" Luther’s voice rose accidentally but he hastily checked himself, bringing his head closer. "I remember her being all creepy when I first saw her. I mean, yes she was friendly. But she said something weird about control and—"

My legs froze instantly. "Control?"

Luther pointed. "See? I was shocked as well," he paused, eyes wandering in thought. "It was something about how people come to Montecito seeking spiritual awakening. Or some crazy shit like that. Then she added... some semblance of control. That was a red flag back then but now..."

Okay—maybe an old witch dropping the word ’control’ would seem like nothing at first glance.

But with the notes we’ve gotten before this trip and the fact that almost every adversity we’ve faced has something to do with control... the delusions were beginning to seem real.

"Azrael?" I whipped my head to Azrael who walked to my right. "You said you saw her right? Lingering around the beach house."

His emotions through the bond were quiet.

Too quiet.

If he was pondering deeply on something I won’t know. But somehow I still felt like he was.

As we turned a corner leading into the sandy beach, Azrael nodded, his chin raised. "Hm. But like I said she didn’t utter a word. Neither did she do anything."

Why was that so hard to believe?

She must have done something. Anything.

"Are you sure?" I pushed, making his brow rise from the glasses. "I’m not saying you’re... lying. It’s just that I feel—"

"Little miss," Azrael’s hand found my back, evaporating any thoughts I had into the wind. "You need not bother yourself much with this. Not now. Not after what happened."

I finally noticed something. A slight roughness in his voice.

Exhaustion. And relief.

Although silent, the others also seemed to share the same emotions. Even Atlas’ golden eyes seemed stressed and worn out.

Because of me.

My head lowered. "It was really that bad, huh?"

"Girl..." Luther made an impression of Willow’s American accent as he rubbed his neck. "You had Silas and me shaking and Atlas’ magic turning the kitchen into a storm’s epicentre."

I giggled while the others either smiled or lightened up.

.

.

The beach house finally came into view, all white walls and glass panels reflecting the sun like it had done absolutely nothing wrong. Like it hadn’t watched me lose my mind minutes ago.

The second we stepped onto the pathway, the tension thinned. Salt air. Waves crashing. Seagulls screaming like unpaid background actors.

Home base.

Atlas unlocked the door and we poured in like survivors of a minor apocalypse. Bags dropped. Shoes kicked off. Luther immediately claimed a sofa like it owed him rent.

"I’m not cooking," he declared to no one in particular.

"No one asked you to," Silas shot back dryly.

I barely heard them.

The moment my feet touched the cool marble tiles inside, something clicked in my brain.

Bath.

"I need a shower," I muttered, already halfway down the hallway.

"Don’t drown," Luther called lazily.

"Shut up."

I slipped into my room, closing the door behind me. The silence hit differently here.

The bathroom light flicked on, reflecting against white marble and gold fixtures. For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection.

I looked... normal.

Too normal.

I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into the shower, twisting the handle. Water came alive above me, warm and steady. It slid down my skin, washing away sand, sweat, and stress.

For a few blissful seconds, I just stood there. Letting it fall. Letting my shoulders drop. Letting my mind be quiet.

Then, without thinking, my gaze lowered to my arms.

I don’t even know why I did it. But I did.

My breath hitched.

For the smallest fraction of a second, I swore I saw those dark sigils, coiling around my forearms like ink under skin.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

And then—

Gone.

Just wet skin and goosebumps. Nothing else.

"Get a grip," I whispered to myself.

My wolf stirred inside me. ’You felt that too, didn’t you?’

All I could do was inhale.

And then I reached.

Recently, magic used to feel like trying to grab lightning with bare hands. Wild. Explosive. It would burst out of me in violent surges, leaving me dizzy and shaking.

But this?

This was different.

It responded instantly. Like it had been waiting.

My fingers twitched.

The marble wall in front of me frosted over in an instant. A perfect layer of ice spreading outward in controlled symmetry, delicate as lace.

My breath came out shaky. "Oh."

Steam thickened in the air as I willed the water hotter, then cooler, then swirling. I shifted the temperature without touching the handle. Just because I could.

The droplets falling from above slowed. Suspended midair.

I tilted my head, watching as they shimmered, then reshaped.

Wings unfolded.

Tiny translucent butterflies fluttered around me, made entirely of water and magic. They landed on the frozen marble, on my shoulders, on my palm and then just stayed.

My chest rose and fell slowly as a smile curled my lips.

This wasn’t chaos.

This was—

Control.

I flexed my fingers and the butterflies dissolved back into droplets, sliding down the drain as if nothing had happened. The ice melted smoothly, returning the marble to its glossy state.

I leaned my forehead against the cool tile.

"I can shape it," I breathed. "I can actually shape it."

My wolf hummed in satisfaction.

For the first time since all this began, my magic didn’t feel like something I had to survive.

It felt like something that belonged to me.

So the question slithered in, quiet but undeniable.

If I finally had control—

—What comes next?