Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Celeste’s POV

*****

"Miss Bloodoak?" The loud bang of Mr Orlando’s palm on my desk made me flinch, head swinging around like I was ready for war.

But then I realised I was sitting in his joint Supernatural History and Politics class. With years one to four AND every race in the Academy present. So basically almost the entire school.

"I don’t appreciate sleeping in my classes." Mr Orlando stepped back, making himself more visible to me. Thankfully, I guess. Or not.

He’s a wolf in his mid-thirties. Short buzz cut blonde hair, sleepy dark green eyes and a casual outfit made up of a white long sleeve shirt and grey vest.

Some year ones apparently crushed on him. Couldn’t be me. No, not because I was "special". But come on, the man never put any effort into looking good.

How could he when we, the kids, drained the life out of him? His words, not mine.

"You’re in your second year," he continued speaking to me despite my reluctance to make eye contact. "Hence this class isn’t mandatory for you. You could’ve dropped it if you found it so boring."

Murmurs and giggles instantly filled the large hall, making me lower my head in a mix of embarrassment and exhaustion.

Remember when I prayed for things not to get worse? Yeah... It got worse.

After a brief glare, Mr Orlando swept past my desk, clearing his throat. "Alright. Where were we?"

"You were giving a deep dive on the history of the first Alpha Kings and how the system of Alpha King ruling over Alphas came to be!" A female voice yelled from behind.

She sounded like she was trying too much to get in his good graces. Or maybe that was the bitterness from getting scolded talking.

"Girl..." Willow was fortunately sitting beside me, fingers parting strands of her hair so I could see her eyes. "Sorry. I was going to wake you but he’d already seen you and told me not to. You sure you still wanna—"

"I told you I need this class, Willow." I rubbed my forehead. "It’s not mandatory, but my scores in Dual Affinity classes put a new meaning to the word ’poor’."

"They’re that bad?"

"Terrible." Came my whispered response. My gaze scanned the seats in front of us, fleeting past all the heads until it found two in particular.

Luther and Lysandra.

They sat so close to each other that they might as well merge into one being.

I remember when Luther used to sit close to Willow and me during joint classes like this... Gods, don’t let me think about any men today.

That’s how I ended up being sleepy in Mr Orlando’s class in the first place. I had a long ass dream. Four men. THOSE four men—hovering over me while I lay in bed, naked.

And they were naked as well.

Azrael in that dream was—

"Any signs of your new goth boyfriend in this class?" Willow, probably noticing me staring at Luther, tried pulling my attention to someone else. "Oh, and Atlas is taking this class too. Saw him sitting behind us."

"Uh... Thanks?"

"Don’t pretend, Cel—"

"Miss Feywin." Mr Orlando cut her off from behind us. "End that side meeting or I’ll have a long chat with your father during the next North American Alpha conference."

At the mention of her father, Willow shrank like a flower folding its petals, burying her head in her notes. I tried not to giggle, shaking my head, pen tapping on my desk.

Mr Orlando went on with the topic. His voice drifted occasionally when I tried glancing back, searching for Atlas. The mate who seemed not to care at all.

I couldn’t spot him, but the mate-bond tugged faintly in my chest.

Silas sat not far away from his brother, extra focused on the class. According to Willow, he’s even more of an overachiever in Wolf-oriented classes.

The only mate—still can’t believe I was calling them that—I couldn’t see or sense was...

"Good day, students." A deep authoritative voice from the entrance of the hall at the far right made me snap out of my thoughts.

Shit... How long have I been thinking just now? Is this how I’m gonna ace this class to save my dropping grades?

Sighing, I tilted my head at the door, eyes narrowing slightly when I saw who stepped into the hall.

Dean Thorne.

A male witch donned in a blood red robe with the insignia of the academy—a blood red sword with a halo of eclipse light behind it—stitched around the lower part.

His eyes were beyond sharp. They were cold, domineering and like molten steel, sweeping through the hall like a spirit hound searching for flaws. Long black hair tied into a ponytail— he seemed to be in his early forties, but was apparently present during the early days of the century-long war.

Silence spread amongst the students the instant they spotted him. The man always had that effect. Any room he stepped into had no choice but to be a graveyard.

After giving Mr Orlando a brief nod, the Dean stood directly in front of the large holographic screen on the wall. "I believe everyone here is aware of what happened to Miss Benedicta. Our academy’s admission officer."

As he spoke, I swerved my head to the entrance of the hall again. He’d left the door open.

It didn’t take long to find out why.

A hand held the door, pushing it a bit more and letting someone else walk in. Okay, I was being modest. It wasn’t "someone else". It was—

"Azrael." Willow tapped me as if I didn’t already have my eyes glued to the man.

Dean Thorne brought authority to a room? Azrael walked as if he owned it, hands swaying casually beside him. He tilted his head to the side, those coal-like eyes finding me in two seconds.

My breath caught, a weird sensation pooling between my legs. Goddess, no. I was remembering the naughty dream I had last night.

"Ah. Good." Dean Thorne glanced at Azrael with a small smile. Wait, a smile? "Welcome, Mister Vaelmont. Get acquainted with this class. I’m sure you’ll find it helpful."

At this point, many were already whispering in secret around us. I subconsciously tugged at the sleeves of my blouse, lips pressing into a line.

Azrael nodded at the Dean, standing beside him as he continued. "We’ll be holding a memorial in her honour tonight. Every student, whether they’re in this hall or not, will attend."

Finality.

His words have always been so straightforward and unrebuttable.

Some students grumbled but no one dared question him.

Seeing this, he nodded. "Perfect. The memorial will be around the old blood oak tree at the centre of the school. Come with a heart to pay your last respects."

My eyes flitted between him and Azrael.

What did those two have already that could make the Dean SMILE at him? Dean Thorne doesn’t just smile at anyone, let alone a new student.

Was he that special? Vaelmont...

"With that out of the way, I have one final thing." He clasped his hands, causing a piece of paper to appear. Grabbing it, he cleared his throat, eyes skimming through it. "The following students should report to my office now. Luther Hale. Silas Hale. Atlas Stormwood. Celeste Bloodoak. And Azrael Vaelmont."

Those words took a few seconds to register. When they did, however, my eyes grew so wide they almost shot at the man.

Huh?!