Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Celeste’s POV

*****

Several minutes had passed. Yet the clocks still kept working normally. People rushed into my room, academy medics barking for the students bombarding me with questions to leave as they whisked the body away.

Yes.

THE BODY.

Calling the girl I’ve slept in the same space with for over a year ’a body’ felt wrong on so many levels. But it was reality. Not a dream. Not a bad illusion cast by a witch trying to rip me down mentally.

The blood. Its thick scent in our suite. My heavy chest. Her dying words... all of it was real.

"Celeste?!" The first person to bolt into my room after the body was taken away surprisingly wasn’t any of my mates.

It was my brother.

"Where’s Willow?" He rushed to my side, shoving away the stubborn ones among the students who were still present.

That seemed to do it as everyone backed away, leaving my room while he sat beside me. "Is she...?" he sniffed. As if registering the smell of the blood and her absence.

I could feel the realisation hit him like a freight train in the way his shoulders fell. I didn’t look at him. Neither did I speak. I just left my head lowered as I sat on my bed, the white piece of paper left with her clutched between my fingers.

The word written on it stared back at me like a beacon of mockery.

Consequences.

"Cel," Caelum wrapped an arm hesitantly around my shoulders, still shaken with disbelief. "I—you—"

"P–Please, Caelum," I lifted a warning hand, finally meeting his silver eyes. To my surprise, they glistened with tears he tried hard to blink back.

I struggled to find words just then. I’d been about to tell him to fuck off. Been about to lash out and scream. But what would that solve? Other than making me feel like a jerk later.

"P–Please..." I repeated, this time shattering again. The tears rushed out before I could stop them, my chest tightening. "... I just want her back. I just want someone to say it’s a bad joke. For... for her to—"

"Little miss?" Hurried footsteps resounded from the doorway just then.

I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Still, I did.

Azrael.

His arms were rigid, chest rising and falling as his head moved through the suite. Shock riddled his expression. Then relief when those sunglasses were angled at me.

"You’re okay—"

I got up before he could finish, burying my head in his chest. He paused for just a second before his arms wrapped around me, a hand brushing down my hair.

"She’s gone," the sob came out breathless and loud. "W–Willow is gone! And it’s all my... it’s all my—"

"Don’t you dare blame yourself." His fingers curled through my hair, voice reverberating. "You aren’t responsible for the twisted actions of the mad woman behind all this."

I shook my head, the tears refusing to stop. "If she had never met me. If... if I’d just stayed away from her. If I’d come back from that stupid interrogation on time. Maybe she won’t be a target—it’s my fault—"

"Celeste." He shook me. "There’s nothing you could do. Please... stop blaming yourself. She wouldn’t have liked that."

His ’please’ made my breathing hitch.

Azrael rarely used that word.

Soon, more footsteps rushed in.

Heavy and urgent.

Luther stormed in first, eyes wild as they swept across the room. Atlas followed close behind, calmer but no less tense. Silas came in last, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click that somehow made everything feel... sealed.

"What the hell happened?" Luther started, voice sharp.

His gaze landed on the blood.

Then on me.

Then on the empty space where Willow had been.

Everything in him stilled. "...No."

Silas exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. Atlas didn’t speak. His eyes flickered over the room once, taking in every detail like he was piecing together a puzzle no one wanted to solve.

Luther’s jaw clenched. "Classes have been dismissed. The Dean shut everything down because of—"

"Not now." Atlas’ voice cut through him.

Luther snapped his mouth shut, eyes flashing in irritation for a second before he looked back at me... and the anger melted into something else.

Azrael’s arms tightened around me slightly, grounding me as my breathing spiralled again.

No one spoke after that.

They just... stood there.

Letting it settle. Letting me feel it. Letting it hurt.

I didn’t know how long had passed before Atlas moved carefully.

His gaze dropped to my hand. To the paper still clenched in my fingers.

"Celeste..." he said softly.

I didn’t resist when he took it. Didn’t even realise I’d loosened my grip.

He unfolded it, then read it.

I watched as something in Atlas’s composure cracked. "...Luther."

He tilted the paper slightly.

Luther leaned in. Silas too. Both stared at the single word.

Consequences.

A low, dangerous sound left Luther’s throat. "That sick—"

"She left it on her?" Silas asked quietly.

Atlas nodded once, folding the paper back slowly like it meant something now. Like it was evidence. Because it was.

My throat burned as I forced myself to speak.

"She said..." my voice trembled. "Willow said... It was a professor."

That got their attention immediately.

"What?" Luther snapped.

I swallowed, fingers digging into Azrael’s shirt.

"She said she was too strong. That it was... a professor."

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

"That makes sense." Luther ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. "Think about it. A professor has access to everything. Records, wards, schedules. They can move around without anyone questioning them."

Silas nodded slowly. "And enough knowledge to manipulate situations like this without being obvious."

Atlas’s eyes darkened, mind already racing ahead.

"So the question is..." he murmured.

"Which professor?" Luther finished.

And just like that, the grief in the room turned into something sharper.

.

.

Later that day, I sat outside my suite.

I couldn’t go back in yet.

The door had been fixed already. The blood was cleaned. Everything... restored.

Almost like nothing happened. Like she wasn’t there. Like she didn’t die.

It made me sick.

My mother stood in front of me, her presence calm, steady... grounding.

"I can have the Dean move you," she said gently. "A new suite. Somewhere else."

I shook my head immediately.

"No."

Her brows furrowed slightly.

"Celeste—"

"I can’t keep avoiding it," I said, my voice quieter now. "Not this. Not any of this."

My fingers curled against my arms. "If I leave, it’s like I’m pretending it didn’t happen. Like she didn’t die there."

My throat tightened.

"I won’t do that to her."

She watched me for a long moment.

Then sighed softly. "...You’re stronger than you think."

I didn’t feel strong.

I felt... empty.

"I have matters to attend to," she added after a pause. "And I’ll likely visit Willow’s family. Her father deserves to hear this properly."

Right.

The man was an Alpha. This wouldn’t end quietly.

Her hand cupped my cheek.

"Do not act on impulse," she warned softly. "Not until we have proof. Not until we know exactly who is behind this."

I nodded but something inside me didn’t agree. Not fully.

She studied me for a second longer then turned and walked away.

The moment she left, however, my wolf stirred.

For the first time since all of this started, we shared the same thought. The same suspect.

But neither of us said who.

Not yet...

.

.

Later that night, the academy was silent.

Too silent.

No chatter. No movement. No life.

Just fear.

Students locked in their suites, whispering, waiting and wondering if they’d be next.

But I wasn’t in my suite.

I sat in a dimly lit living space. Patiently waiting for someone.

The door opened softly after a while.

"—Oh." A pause. "...Celeste?"

Professor Amelia stepped in, brows knitting in surprise.

"You startled me," she added lightly, closing the door behind her. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

I didn’t move, smile or pretend.

"Drop the act." The words came out cold.

Her steps faltered slightly.

"I’m not sure what you mean—"

"At first," I cut in, rising slowly from the chair, "when Willow said it was a professor... I didn’t believe it."

I took a step forward.

"Because how does a werewolf like you... Use the Vein so fluidly?"

Something flickered in her eyes. It was gone in a second. But I saw it.

"And then I remembered something," I continued. "Your speciality."

Her lips parted but no words came out.

"Mate bond theory," I added.

The air shifted.

"You were the first to point out my bonds," I said. "The first to bring it to the Dean. The first to study me."

Her steps moved back slowly now. "Celeste, you’re grieving. You’re not thinking clearly—"

The door slammed shut as a flame ignited.

Azrael stepped forward from the shadows, fire curling lazily around his fingers.

"Are you sure about that?" He murmured.

Another presence came out. Then another.

Atlas.

Luther.

Silas.

They stepped into the light one by one, surrounding her. Closing in and cutting off every escape.

Professor Amelia’s eyes darted between us now, her breathing uneven.

The calm. The composure. The innocence... all of it cracked.

Just a little. But enough.

And I watched it happen, my fingers twitching beside me as my chin rose. "You’ve been behind it from the start. Haven’t you, Professor Amelia?"