Page 57 of The Sin Binder's Vow

But that would be admitting something. That would be surrender.

And I don’t surrender.

She tilts her head, her breath brushing my throat. “You’re angry with me. Why?”

“Because you make mewantthings,” I hiss. “You make mehope.”

“Good.”

I freeze.

Her lips curve into something soft. Not smug. Not cruel. Just... knowing.

“I hope you keep wanting,” she says, voice like smoke curling into my ribs. “Even if it kills you.”

And maybe it will. Maybe this is how I die. Not in war. Not in blood. But here. With her. Long before my body breaks.

“Why are you so afraid to love me?”

Her voice doesn’t echo—itlives.It slams into my ribs and nests in the spaces I’ve spent centuries carving hollow.

I grit my teeth. My fists curl so tight my claws pierce my palms, a sweet sting that reminds me I’m still here. Still not entirely lost to her.

If I open my mouth, it won’t be words that come out—it’ll be everything I’ve buried since the moment we bonded. The want. The shame of that want. The slow, inexorable pull of her that I’ve tried to tear away from like it’s a parasite eating me alive.

She doesn’t move. She justwaits.Like she always does. Like she believes I’ll come to her when I’m ready.

“I’m not afraid,” I say, voice low and bitter. “I just know how this ends.”

“With what?” she asks, and fuck, she sounds so calm, like we’re discussing the weather and not the slow detonation inside my chest. “With me breaking? Or you?”

“Yes.”

Her lips part, but I don’t give her a chance to speak.

“I destroy everything I touch,” I say, dragging my gaze to hers, daring her to look away. “Even the things I love.”

There. I said it.

Love.

The word hits the ground between us like blood—spilled, irreversible. But she just exhales. Not soft. Not sad. Juststeady.

“I know.”

Sheknows.And she’s still here.

“I don’t want your promises,” she says. “I don’t want you to become something you’re not.”

I flinch. Becausethat’swhat scares me. Not that she’ll ask for too much—but that she’ll take meas I am.That she already does.

“What do you want then?” I growl. “Because I don’t have anythingleftto give.”

She steps closer, and the warmth of her presence is worse than any blade. Worse than any wound.

“I want the part of you you hate the most,” she whispers. “Because that’s the part you never let anyone love.”

My knees almost buckle. I turn away from her, but her fingers catch my wrist. Not to restrain. Just to remind.

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