Page 202 of The Sin Binder's Chains

She turns and hands it to me.

And I, like the idiot I am, take it with clammy, anxious, sweaty hands.

Because, yeah. I’ve done this before.

Not the sleeping-with-the-sin-binder part. That’s been... well-established.

But the bond?

Yeah. I’ve been bound. Briefly. Badly. And never like this. Never to someone who looked at me like this. Like I wasn’t just another mark. Another name. Another conquest. Her gaze is steady. Patient. Dangerous.

And mine? Mine is full of panic.

Because the second she lets go of the knife, I drop it. It clatters to the floor, loud as sin, metal bouncing once before the point drags across my palm on the way down.

A flash of heat.

A hiss of breath.

And then, blood.

Shit.

“Fuck,” I mutter, kneeling to grab it, gripping my hand like I’m trying not to bleed out in front of the woman I just said I loved.

When I glance up, expecting silence, judgment, maybe some ancient binder magic rage,

She’s laughing. Soft. Surprised. Real. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just that low, unexpected kind of laugh that breaks something inside me. Not because it hurts.

Because it doesn’t.

Because maybe for a second, she forgot to keep her walls up. Maybe for once, I was more than just the man tripping his way into her power.

I stand slowly, holding the knife in my good hand now, the other still bleeding.

“You good?” she asks, voice warm but sharp-edged, like she might enjoy watching me squirm.

“Fine,” I deadpan. “Just trying to be memorable.”

She moves closer.

And her fingers, cool, deliberate, wrap around my wounded palm, smearing the blood between us like she’s testing it.

Her eyes flick to mine. “You are.”

I’ve never wanted anything more than I want her in this moment, power, blood, bond and all.

Even if she devours me.

Especially if she does.

She doesn’t say anything. No warning. No question. No spell murmured between breaths.

Just, motion.

She takes the blade from my hand.

Not reverent. Not theatrical.

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