Page 49 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Her eyes are still closed. Her breathing soft. But the second her hand curls under my shirt, settling against the bare skin of my stomach like it's hers to claim, I know she’s not asleep. Not even close.

And if she is? Then it’s sleepwalking blessed by the gods, and I’ll take that kind of divine intervention all night long. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t open her eyes. Just tucks herself against me like the world hasn’t tried a thousand ways to tear us apart.

I swallow hard. My arm curls around her almost instinctively, careful not to jostle her. Careful not to wake the monster in my ribcage that starts gnashing its teeth every time she gets this close. Because I’m chaos. I’m the Sin that pulls apart the seams. And she—shestitchesthings.

And that makes her dangerous.

I tilt my head just enough to murmur into her hair, “You do realize I’m scarred now, right? Permanently marked. I’ll need trauma counseling and nightly wine therapy after Elias and Riven decided to treat me like a plush toy.”

From the floor, Elias grumbles something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously likeyou’re welcome.

Riven, mercifully, says nothing.

Luna hums—this tiny pleased sound—then nuzzles deeper into my side.

No one sees this part of her. No one gets this softness. This quiet, molten warmth. It’s forme. Just like the bond between us. Just like the first time I felt her magic crawl through my blood and whispermine.

I bury my face in her hair for a second, letting myselfhave it. Not forever. Just here. Just now.

“You know,” I whisper, “if you’re trying to kill me slowly, it’s working.”

She says nothing. But her fingers flex slightly against my skin. Her thumb brushes over the sharp dip of my hip bone.

And I swear I feel her smile.

I close my eyes.

And for a moment—just one—I forget we’re walking toward a war. That Daemon’s cursed bones are rising from the dirt. That Branwen still holds two of ours like prized dolls she hasn’t finished ripping apart.

Right now, in the small sacred stillness of this shitty inn room, I haveher. And that’s enough. But it won’t be for long. Because morning is coming. And the gods are cruel.

I should’ve known she wouldn’t let me have peace.

She’s warm and sweet beside me, fingers curled against my ribs like I’m her favorite stuffed animal. For a moment I thought maybe she’d just drift off like this, quiet and content.

But then the bond hums—no,purrs—inside me.

A flicker. Then a spark. Then a slow, syrupy slide ofwantthat doesn't belong to me.

Luna.

The image she pushes through the bond is clear enough: my mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, her breathy gasp in my ear. And gods, she’s not subtle about it. No build-up. No gentle flirtation. Just pure, molten,Lust-level filth sent straight to my brain like she’s trying to short-circuit it.

My whole body jerks, muscles tensing, breath catching. I try not to make a sound, but my exhale is a little too sharp. I glance toward her.

Her eyes are still closed.

Liar.

I grit my teeth and think,That’s dirty play, sweetheart.

The image sharpens: her pulling me down on top of her, nails digging into my back, her thighs clenching around me. That little smirk I know she wears when she’s being an absolute menace is painted behind my eyes like she’s tattooed it there.

You think you’re clever,I send back through the bond.But I’ve had wet dreams less detailed than that.

She shifts, just slightly, like she’s proud of herself. Which, fair. She should be. I’m seconds away from combusting and we haven’t even moved.

But I’m not Lust. I don’t go quietly. I bite back.

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