Page 141 of The Sin Binder's Chains

My entire body slams against Luna’s with a force that should be a crime against the gods, and we hit the ground in a tangled sprawl of limbs and disbelief. Her breath whooshes out in a soft, startled noise that goes straight to my soul. I know that sound. I’ve made it my mission to collect every version of it.

"Ow," I mutter, mostly for effect. "Okay, that one wasn’t me. That was Elias. Full-on betrayal. You saw it, right?"

She blinks up at me, her hair splayed like a halo of darkness beneath her, lips parted in surprise, and I forget how to breathe.

My hands are on her hips. Her thighs bracket mine. We are way too close for deniability, and I can feel the bond humming between us like it's pleased with the outcome. Of course it is. That damn thing always roots for chaos.

Her eyes narrow, skeptical. “You're blaming Elias for this?”

“Uh, yes?” I say, indignant, even as I refuse to move. "He shoved me with violent intent. I flew like a majestic, unwilling bird. Right into your trap-like arms.”

Her brows shoot up. “Trap-like?”

“Viciously so.” I nod solemnly, pretending my heart isn’t slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to crawl into her chest. “I barely survived.”

She should push me off. She should roll her eyes and tell me to get my annoying self off of her before she sets me on fire or worse. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stays right where she is.

And her hands, traitorous, wonderful hands settle against my chest like she doesn’t hate the feel of me. Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt, and I stop breathing altogether. Because now I know she can feel it. The bond. My heartbeat. The way everything inside me twists violently toward her like I’m not the chaos, I’m just what the chaos wants.

“I’m innocent,” I whisper, eyes locked to hers. “Completely innocent.”

“You’re never innocent.”

“Okay, fair,” I concede with a grin. “But I swear this time, I wasn’t even trying to fall for you.”

It slips out before I can stop it. Too honest. Too much. I feel it hit her like a flare, bright and hot between us, and I prepare for the sting of her rejection.

But all she does is stare at me.

And smile.

Which is, frankly, much more dangerous.

I roll off her like a martyr draped in glory. Not just any roll, a majestic, poetic tumble onto my back, arms out like I’m posing for a painting no one asked for. Dirt clings to my shoulder, my hip, my pride, but I play it off like I meant to be here. Like I’ve always meant to fall into her orbit and crash gloriously.

“Grace,” I declare to the sky. “Pure grace.”

She’s still blinking at me, flattened beneath whatever spell we both pretended wasn’t cast, and I shove up on one elbow and hold out my hand. “Milady,” I say, wagging my eyebrows like a complete menace. “May I rescue you from the villainous clutches of gravity?”

She takes my hand. Doesn’t even hesitate. Her palm fits against mine too well, warm and sure, and when I pull her up, her body brushes against mine for one lingering moment before we settle awkwardly into upright.

And then she ruins me.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

It’s not cruel. It’s not taunting. It’s soft. Too soft. The kind of question meant to unravel people like me.

I blink. “Afraid?” I scoff, and immediately regret how high my voice pitches. “Of you?”

She crosses her arms. “You dodge. You deflect. You flirt like a drunk jester. And the second I get close , really close , you run.”

I pretend to gasp. “I have never run. I have strategically relocated.”

She waits. Silent. Expectant. And that’s the worst of it , she’s not teasing me. She’s not mad. She’s curious. Like peeling back my layers might mean something to her.

I scratch the back of my neck, trying to grin my way out of it. “You ever meet someone and immediately know they could ruin you?” I ask. “Like just obliterate all the nonsense you hide behind and leave you standing there, heart in your hands, stupid and wanting?”

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