Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Celeste’s POV

*****

The moment I stepped into my bedroom, the temperature dropped, sending ice down my bones.

I closed the door behind me with haste, eyes scanning the walls. Across all of them was a collection of runes, forming complex designs.

Wards.

Glowing with a bright white light on my walls, charged with enough magic energy to make the air feel heavy.

"What the fuck happened here?" I swallowed, fingers curling beside me. "These wards aren’t supposed to be visible. Or this active."

Should I go report this to the Dean or someone important in the academy? What do I even say? Wait... HOW am I certain this didn’t have something to do with me?

Curious and clueless all at once, I crept deeper into the bedroom. My right hand lifted shakily above my head, magic gathering between my fingertips before I even summoned it.

That got me excited for a split second but I hastily pushed it down.

With nothing but utter awe, I noticed the wards reacting to me. To MY magic. When I swayed my hand—they pulsed. When I wiggled my fingers they stretched like they were going to crawl out of the walls.

And when I clenched my palm into a fist... they dimmed slightly, their light not so blinding.

"How and why is this happening?" Was the only question that managed to slip past my mouth. I was intrigued and terrified, not knowing what to make of it.

As I lowered my hand, an odd feeling shot through. Goosebumps swelled across my arms, the wards themselves fading away until they were invisible as always.

Suddenly, it felt like I was being watched. Or rather... like someone had been here to drop something.

I couldn’t explain the feeling but—

"Cel, are you still in here?" Willow’s sharp voice made me jolt, my heart jumping into my throat. I spun around just in time to witness the door open, her exhausted face peeking in. "Oh, thank goodness you are. I swear to Selene, Mr Orlando was after our lives today and I need to vent."

She walked in, closing the door with a grunt.

Fortunately, it seemed she didn’t notice the magic show I had on a couple of seconds ago.

However—

"Why’s your heart all jumpy?" She arched a concerned brow. "And you’re still in your clothes from last night. You good, boo?"

I nodded without hesitation. "Of course," I drew out the ’course’ with several more E’s. "Of course, I’m good. I was just about to go bathe."

Her eyes still had a hint of suspicion but as always, she dropped it with a shrug. She moved to her bed, hopping on it with no care in the world.

"I’ve got only thirty minutes before the next class. Gods, this academy will be the death of me. I’m barely able to scale through my grades. My social life isn’t the best—no offence. Now..."

The more she spoke, the more spaced out I got. I blinked, eyes flicking to my own bed.

A little white note on my lamp stand made me freeze.

’Was... was that there before?’

Frowning, I dragged my feet to it.

When I grabbed the piece of paper and flipped it over, however—my pulse stuttered, terror making my fingers tremble.

There was a word written boldly. In blood... just like those two notes at Azrael’s suite.

Control.

As if that wasn’t enough, a familiar magical imprint was left behind on the paper. It latched onto my mind, sending a telepathic message before I could react.

’This is Atlas.’ his accent made me squint with confusion. ’No, I didn’t write this note. I met it here. Yes, that means I was... in your room without your consent earlier.’

My face flushed.

What the heck?!

’We should keep this note to ourselves as well. Which means no telling Willow...’ his mental voice paused. ’If you’re hearing this, make plans to meet with me. Azrael is already thinking about spying on the Dean.’

Air flared past my nostrils.

A–Azrael too?!

"Celeste?" Willow chirped, forcing me to quickly squeeze the note in my palm. I whipped my neck to her, smiling at her raised brow. "Uh... I think you spaced out. Are you sure you’re okay?"

I laughed softly, a sound that didn’t quite reach my chest. "I’m fine, Willow. Just... tired."

She eyed me for another second, clearly unconvinced, but then flopped back onto her bed with a groan. "Must be nice being free and tired. I’m just tired."

I murmured something vague in response, already backing away. My fingers curled around the note one last time before I slipped it into my pocket, heart hammering like it was trying to escape my ribcage.

"I’m really going to bathe now," I added quickly. "Cold shower. Wake myself up."

"Suit yourself," she waved me off. "Don’t drown."

I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked it.

Only then did I release the breath I’d been holding.

The mirror reflected a version of me I barely recognised—eyes too bright, skin faintly flushed, magic humming beneath my flesh like a second pulse.

I slipped out of my clothes, turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray, gasping when icy water crashed over my shoulders.

Cold usually grounded me.

This time, it did the opposite.

The air shifted almost instantly. A sharp chill crawled outward from my skin, biting and unnatural. I sucked in a breath as frost bloomed along the marble tiles, thin white veins racing across the walls like living things. The mirror fogged, then crystallised, ice spider-webbing over the glass.

"No—wait..." I staggered back, fingers splaying against the wall.

The frost didn’t just answer. It thickened.

My magic surged, wild and reactive, responding not to my will but to my confusion, amplifying it into something dangerous. The shower water froze mid-stream, shattering into ice shards against the floor.

I forced myself to breathe. Slowly.

The frost hesitated. Trembled. Then, inch by inch, it retreated.

My chest burned as the room warmed again, leaving only damp marble and my shaking reflection behind.

That was when it hit me...

This wasn’t just magic growth.

My magic wasn’t simply getting stronger—it was slipping. Breaking past whatever restraints I’d unknowingly kept on it for years. And the timing was too precise to be a coincidence.

The wards.

The note.

The word ’control’ written in blood.

Whoever had left it knew.

Knew what I was becoming. Knew what was happening to my power.

And worse—

They might be the reason it was happening at all.

I pressed a hand to the pocket of my trousers hanging on a rack, fingers brushing the folded paper. Dread curled deep in my stomach.

I wasn’t losing control on my own.

Someone was pushing me.