Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Luther’s POV

*****

8:00 pm, Old Blood Oak tree.

He stood a few meters away from the tree’s great branches, chest heaving as he observed the perimeter.

Blood, entrails and ash left behind by spells dotted the ground around. The stench of ozone and fear still hung thick in the air, a few embers floating past him.

Body parts of Vein beasts littered the premises like a bloody garbage heap.

Almost every student had evacuated the scene, save for him, Lysandra and a few other top students. He swiped blood from his forehead, hissing from the sting of a slash wound on his arm.

It was flesh level at best. But it still hurt.

"That should be the last of them," Lysandra’s voice pierced the eerie silence. He squinted, watching her descend from above the rest of them like a goddess. Her black hair flowed around like liquid silk, eyes still lit with a bright blue light.

When she landed, her gaze immediately locked on Luther. She smirked, walking up to him while Professor Amelia spoke up.

"Are you certain there are no more?" Her voice held clear doubt. "We can’t have any lingering within the academy grounds and pose a risk. The Dean is currently searching the wards for any faults that might’ve let them—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Lysandra rolled her eyes, barely glancing over her shoulder. She fluttered her eyelashes at the professor who stood on the makeshift stage. "I get it. You can ask the witch professors to do more spells if you’re still doubtful—but there are no more Vein beasts for at least a mile radius."

Somehow a mile still sounded way too close.

Everything about tonight screamed "wrong". And Luther knew he wasn’t the only one who thought that.

He saw the puzzled expressions on the faces of the professors. Even older ones like Professor Dante, a wolf disciplined in Inner Wolf Control Theory.

"Hey, you," Lysandra’s fingers on his jaw made him bring his mind back to reality. She leaned close, face inches away. "You have no idea how hot you look like this. All sweaty and covered in the blood of those beasts..." Her other hand roamed, raking across his open upper chest.

His nostrils flared, fists clenching beside himself. He was in no mood for whatever this was.

Without a word, he removed her hand from his jaw. He ignored the shock in her eyes, spinning as he scanned his eyes on the surroundings.

For a reason, his search led him to see the last person he wanted to right now.

Azrael.

He stood at a corner, silently observing under those dark sunglasses. His hands rested in his pockets, chin raised despite Luther staring straight at him.

Oh, the bastard definitely saw him. Saw he was staring. And completely ignored his existence, moving his head in a different direction.

That was enough to make Luther’s fists clench so hard his claws almost came out.

But he held himself back.

Instead of charging into an unnecessary fight, he asked himself some questions. First off... How was he able to keep up during the battles?

Azrael was new in the academy. From what Luther learnt, he was a transfer student, already in his second year at his previous Academy.

All that didn’t explain his seamless movements during battle. He’s never seen a witch, one still in his early twenties at most, spamming nothing more than telekinesis and fire manipulation to obliterate tens of Vein beasts.

Not to mention the way he blended in the shadows in between strikes. While Luther fought, he had taken note of Azrael Vaelmont. And now he was suspicious.

Something didn’t feel right about the guy. He didn’t know what yet... But he’ll keep a close eye.

Moving on, he spotted Atlas.

The witch was barely phased, fingers interlocked in front of his stomach as he spoke in hushed tones with a couple of witch professors. His expression was plain, undisturbed despite the bloodshed around him.

As for Celeste’s brother, Caelum, Luther was sure he saw him leave, shielding multiple students and leading them to safety. And speaking of Celeste—

"Thank you, top students." Dean Thorne’s baritone voice cut through his thoughts like a whip.

Luther turned, watching the man walk into the scene with a group of three Academy enforcers behind him. These enforcers wore crimson uniforms with golden runes sewn into them while the Dean wore a robe.

"Professors," Thorne clasped his hands when he got in front of them all. "We’ll take things from here. There are a lot of red herrings and I can say with certainty we have a traitor in our midst."

Lysandra gasped beside him. Beneath the dull glow of a lamppost, Azrael made no sounds. Although his lips curved slightly.

"Traitor," Luther repeated the word, finally noticing something.

Celeste and Silas. They weren’t anywhere to be seen.

Sniffling, he caught their scents in a couple of seconds. They came from an academic building, still strong and easy to follow in the air.

Without saying anything, he moved. The Dean and the enforcers spread out, checking the ground and interrogating professors.

Free space to escape—

"Luther?" Lysandra called behind him, making him freeze abruptly. "Are you... Are you okay? You’re moving in haste, and you seem absent-minded."

Her voice sounded inviting. He heard her approaching footsteps and almost turned, damning Celeste and his brother.

Why should he care?

’Because she’s our mate.’ his wolf chimed in his mind. ’And I know you’re beyond curious to know what they’re doing in there. Together. Alone.’

Those words from his wolf snapped his mind back to focus. He didn’t even glance back at Lysandra, strutting with a purpose.

"I’m fine, Lysandra." Was all he barely offered her, eyes locked on the tall academic building. His mind already imagined so many things but he kept calm.

.

.

The scents led him to the Alpha Heirs Haven on the second floor of the three-storey building. They were thicker here. Much thicker, coiling around the door as if they’d walked in glued together.

His brother took her to a spot he never brought her to when they dated. A spot he’s once considered bringing her to before—well, everything.

Alarms flared in Luther’s mind.

Without thinking twice, he knocked, making sure his knuckles were heavy on the wooden door.

He felt a pause in the room from all the way here. Seconds passed.

Then—

Clicks echoed at the other side of the door. When it finally swung open, Luther’s throat tightened. The first thing he saw was his brother, half-naked, with sweat clinging to his skin.

The same brother who hated being under heat or letting his musk out. That all now stuck to him like a miasma, thick and undeniable.

At the end of the room, stood her.

Celeste.

She had her hands beside her body, fists curling the instant their eyes met. Disgust twitched her features, masking something else.

But he didn’t get the chance to find out what.

With an angry stomp, she moved. "Good night, Silas. Take care of that wound." She muttered when she walked past her brother. Her eyes didn’t even fleet past Luther for another second, her body missing his by a couple of inches before she waltzed away.

Gods, did she really hate him that much?

"Brother," Silas cleared his throat, making Luther whip his head to him. The latter noticed something Celeste said and scanned his eyes on his brother’s body.

It didn’t take long to see it.

"By the gods..." Luther mumbled, gawking briefly at the bandaged wound before raising his head. "That looks—"

"Trust me, it hurts more than it looks." Silas chuckled dryly, stepping aside so Luther could walk in. "But I’m good now. And in need of some scotch."

Luther watched his brother turn his back to him, striding toward the fridge in the corner. Seeming completely oblivious to the implications of everything he just witnessed.

Celeste had a few dried-up blood stains on her fingers when she left. Blood stains that did not belong to her.

Which means—

"She healed you up?" He asked the first question that struck him, stepping in finally. Closing the door behind him, he arched a curious eyebrow at Silas.

The latter brought out a scotch bottle, eyebrows furrowed as he turned himself a glass. "I guess you can say she did. She used the magic balm from that first aid," he gestured at the first aid box on the desk. "Anything wrong?"

Luther raised his hands. "Oh, nothing. Just... Surprised you’ve suddenly taken a liking to her. Quite unlike you."

Silas had barely taken his first sip when the glass froze mid-air. He blinked once, hazel eyes trailing to Luther in a deadpan, almost calculative scan.

There he is.

"Unlike me?" Silas placed the glass and bottle on the desk behind him. "Because I... Brought our mate here away from danger and let her take care of me?"

"It doesn’t matter if you two discussed politics over tea, brother." Luther took two steps forward. "She’s my ex. She used to be mine and—"

"Cut the bloody clown show." Silas raised a finger, making Luther blink with surprise. His brother shook his head, disbelief sharp in his eyes. "You lost the right to care about anything I do with her when you dumped her like last week’s rubbish."

Luther parted his lips to say something but Silas went on:

"Not to mention—it’s not your decision to make anymore," he moved, not stopping until he stood a few feet in front of Luther. "It’s hers. It’s you against three other men, Luther. Including me."

Luther’s jaw tightened, rage and jealousy unlike anything he’s ever felt settling in his chest.

Silence pulsed between them like static. It felt like anyone could snap at any second.

But eventually—

"Get your head out of the clouds," Silas mumbled, already moving past him. "Lysandra has clearly made you stick it up there for too long."

That snapped the noose.

In a flash, Luther turned, grabbing Silas. He pushed, pinning him to the wall beside the door. Not too hard, but enough to make his brother stare with surprise. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"Don’t. Fucking. Test me." Luther drew the words, voice dangerous and firm. "I don’t care if you’re injured. I’ll show you your place if you push me."

Silas didn’t flinch despite his position. He didn’t even try pushing, just staring into Luther’s eyes with that same old calm their pack elders and their father praised.

After what felt like forever, Luther let go of his arm. Silas didn’t even wait a second longer, grabbing his suit and shirt from the rack above.

Then with one final look, he walked out of the room, closing the door with lethal calm.

Luther stood there in silence, trying to put himself in check. Okay, he might’ve overreacted.

Brushing his hand through his hair, he pivoted toward the table. Taking a burning gulp from the glass of scotch his brother already filled, Luther stared aimlessly at the wall.

The bond thrummed in his pulse. In his blood. He couldn’t ignore or deny it anymore.

"You might hate me more than the others right now," Luther whispered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "But I’ll win you back. Goddess mark my words, Celeste Bloodoak."