Page 67 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Silas leans in, voice low. “You want me to go distract him?”

I don’t answer.

Because Elias is turning now. Back toward us. But the woman leans forward, fingers grazing his wrist—and I see it. That smile on his lips. Thatsmilehe givesme.

I stand.

Silas doesn’t stop me. He just sighs, finishes my drink in one swallow, and mutters, “Gods help her.”

I move through the crowd like it’s parting for me. Because itis. I don’t use magic. I don’t have to. The bond is alive under my skin, and itwants. It wants Elias’s attention. It wants that womangone. It wants to make a point.

And when I reach them—when Elias sees me, really sees me—he freezes.

She doesn’t.

She turns, all pleasant surprise and honeyed voice. “Oh, is this your—?”

“She’s mine,” Elias says, quick, sharp, not bothering to smile. “Luna, this is... I didn’t get her name.”

The woman flushes, clearly realizing the mistake, but I don’t look at her. I look at Elias.

And Ipush.

Not with words.

Not with touch.

With the bond.

Say something stupid,I whisper through it.Say something only I would understand.

His mouth quirks, almost instantly.

“Well,” he says slowly, “you missed your chance. This festival’s about to get a whole lot more naked.”

I roll my eyes. But the fury cools. Just a little.

Yet the woman—gods bless her stupid, irredeemably clueless soul—doesn’t back off.

She smiles again. Wide. Toothy. Either oblivious or suicidal. “I was just telling Elias he should come dance. There’s a troupe setting up by the—”

“He won’t,” I cut in, voice soft as velvet dragged across a blade. My gaze doesn't leave her. “He has two left feet. And no rhythm.”

Elias coughs behind me. “Rude.”

“You grind your teeth when you walk,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “Still better than Silas.”

“Everyone is better than Silas.”

The woman laughs like she thinks she’s been invited into the conversation. I turn my head slowly—calm, calculated—and look her over.

She’s pretty. Delicate wrists. Long throat. Expensive perfume that doesn’t quite hide the nervousness rolling off her in waves. She’s someone used to being the center of gravity in a room full of lesser stars.

Unfortunately for her, I’m the fucking galaxy.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other dancers looking for company,” I say, stepping slightly between them. Not touching her. But close enough she flinches. “Try the fire-breathers. I hear they’re into danger.”

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