Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Azrael’s POV

*****

He stood in front of his bathroom door, brows furrowed and eyes locked on the letter in his hand.

And the single word written on it:

Confess.

Minutes ago he’d stumbled upon Miss Benedicta’s cold body. Locked away on his bathroom floor like some twisted idea of a gift.

But this was no gift. It was a threat. And he never took kindly to threats.

"Something’s awfully wrong about this academy," he muttered, gaze flicking to the dead body. It was still sprawled on the bathroom floor.

The bite marks were still visible as if to taunt him.

His first instinct was to contact Amunira. If one of their brethren was out here playing tricks on him, he’d like them to stop. Even vampires weren’t safe when he chose to react.

Yet when he touched his ring, ready to say the summoning words... He paused.

Last time, he questioned Amunira on the possibilities of a vampire being behind Miss Benedicta’s death, even though she seemed uncertain. And she was always up and about the businesses of every vampire.

So... What if this wasn’t a vampire? What if it were a witch or something worse prowling around and trying to frame him?

"Even then why me?" He couldn’t help but ask himself, jaw tightening. "Do they perhaps know about my true mission here? My ties with Celeste?"

When Celeste’s name left his lips, he felt something skip inside him. He couldn’t feel her emotions through the bond right now—but she was there. Present.

Possibly thinking about him too.

"There I go again." He chuckled dryly when his mind lingered too long on her.

Distracted. Again. While a literal body was in his space.

Rubbing his forehead, Azrael considered incinerating the body for a second. He couldn’t risk getting compromised so soon in his mission.

However, just when his fingers twitched with the sparks of a flame—

He felt a shift in the air. Hidden. Not in this bedroom or any of the rooms in the suite. But right outside his living room door.

Frowning, he glanced at the body one last time before shutting the bathroom door. He took slow, measured steps forward, navigating back into the living room.

Tilting his head, his eyes narrowed on the living room door.

Now he knew he wasn’t merely imagining things. There was a presence out there. Magical, masked. And clearly trying to monitor him.

’Cloaking magic?’ he thought to himself, keeping his lips sealed.

Well, well, well... Could this be a spy?

Or the culprit returning to check out the scene of their crimes.

Only one way to find out.

Raising his chin, Azrael’s eyes shone with an ominous light underneath his sunglasses. The living room lights turned off. Sunrays streaming in from the windows died down, like night suddenly swept over the area.

He flicked his right wrist, telekinetically bursting the door open. Shadows stretched into the hallway, filled with ghostly howls. Strands of his hair blew across his face, but he ignored them.

"There you are." He mumbled with a small smirk, raising his index finger before the person could escape.

It seemed like there was no one there at first until something landed with a heavy thud a few feet in front of him. The door slammed shut, locks setting themselves in.

As the shadows Azrael summoned cleared, the witch’s cloaking spell dissipated. It wasn’t just any witch either—

"Atlas Stormwood?" Azrael was genuinely surprised, blinking at the young man as he rose to his feet.

Atlas sneered, arms outstretched. "You—"

"If you’re here to spy or accuse me of something, at least do it cleanly." Azrael blurted, his right leg already moving forward.

But the witch was stubborn.

Swatting down on his dishevelled clothes once, Atlas swiped his right hand forward. A bolt of lightning zapped out of his fingers, hitting Azrael point-blank on his chest.

The latter stumbled back a couple of steps, feet dragging on the floor as he tried thinking through the burn from the attack.

"So you’re here to trade spells?" Azrael raised his head, moving right when Atlas sent another lightning bolt.

This time, he dodged it easily, appearing a few meters to Atlas’ left.

Shaken, Atlas crossed his hands, creating a golden force bubble around himself. "You attacked me first."

"I merely pulled you into the suite you seemed so keen to spy on." Azrael’s tone was plain. "If it were an ’attack’ we won’t be having this conversation."

Atlas’ expression twitched with something Azrael has seen a thousand times.

Fear.

But still, the witch was confident. "I only came here because something felt wrong about you. You’re not like other witches in this academy—"

"You mean I’m not weaker than you?" Azrael was genuinely amused.

Silence settled between them for a beat.

Magic still sizzled in the air, electric and charged. This witch was a powerful one, no doubt.

"Whatever," Atlas finally grunted, lowering his hands. The force bubble crumbled into light specks, leaving him open. "Perhaps I was wrong in my... Judgement." To Azrael’s surprise, he proceeded to bow slightly. "My apologies. I was only curious to understand why Celeste is so close to you so soon."

The temerity.

Centuries back, he would have ripped the heads off any intruder. Much less one spying on him. Alas, the times and setting restricted him from acting on his more impulsive instincts.

"Very well." Azrael curled his fists, holding back his abilities. "Now if you don’t mind, I..."

He paused, noticing how Atlas sniffed into the air. His forehead was crumpled with a frown, eyes darting around the living room and then toward the bedrooms.

Bloody hell.

"Is that..." Atlas hesitated, pointing in the direction the body was. "Is that rotten meat? Or..." He lowered his head, noticing the trail of blood.

At this point, Azrael sighed, pivoting toward the bedrooms. "I guess there’s no use hiding. Come."

Maybe he’d prove useful in helping him solve this mystery.

When he led the witch to the bathroom and opened the door, the latter flinched, fingers instantly sealing his nostrils. "By the old gods..."

They both stayed in front of the bathroom for several seconds, Azrael folding his arms. "I found the body here like this." He let Atlas take in the scene, folding the letter quietly.

Soon enough, Atlas shook his head. "How were they able to bring it into your suite without breaking in?"

Azrael didn’t answer. It’s the same thing he wanted to know.

Eventually, the witch took a bold step toward the body. He squatted, expression calmer now. His golden eyes shone with curiosity, scrutinising the body.

Particularly the bite marks.

"I believe you," Atlas mumbled, barely glancing back over his shoulder. "This couldn’t have been you. I can’t track any traces of magic, and some things aren’t adding up."

Hm... The young man still looked at this thinking he was a witch as well. If only he knew.

"We might have to report this to the school—"

"And risk them pinning blame on me?" Azrael interrupted before he could finish. "This is clearly a setup. Do you wish to know why I’m certain?"

Uncrumpling the letter in his grip, he handed it to Atlas. The witch took it hesitantly, arching a brow as he stared at the paper.

Seconds passed. Until—

"It’s... Blank." Atlas raised his head, staring suspiciously at Azrael. "Completely blank." He flipped both sides of the paper to him for good measure.

Chills crawled down Azrael’s spine, his fists clenching beside him.

Now it was certain he was dealing with someone beyond what he first thought. Someone who was out to get him. Isolate him.

But the question that burned more than all others right now wasn’t why. It was WHO?

And did Celeste somehow have a connection to any of this?