Page 94 of The Sin Binder's Vow

I let the smile fade. I let her see the truth in my eyes.

“I walked through a city.”

Silence stretches long between us. Even the wind holds its breath.

“I didn’t try to hurt anyone. Wasn’t angry. Wasn’t chasing anything. I was justthere.But I’m not human. I’mSin.I corrupt. That’s my nature. To make people choose wrong when they think they’re choosing right. To make stillness into apathy. Passion into obsession. Love intopossession.And that city… itbroke.”

She sways slightly on her feet, processing.

“I watched fathers leave their families,” I murmur. “Watched lovers cheat on each other just tofeelsomething. Watcheda mother drown her child because her thoughts slowed just enough for the darkness to catch her.”

“Elias…”

“It was a Tuesday,” I add, voice barely above a whisper. “The sun was out. There was music playing in a square. And by nightfall, that city was ash and memory.”

She steps closer, her fingers brushing my wrist. “That’s not who you are.”

“That’s exactly who I am.”

“But youchosenot to hurt them.”

“Did I?” I meet her gaze. “Or did I justnot stop it?There’s a difference.”

She doesn't flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lifts my hand and places it over her chest.

“You’re here now. Youarechoosing. And maybe I don’t know how to contain all of it yet… but I’ll learn. I’lltrain.I’ll build stronger walls if I have to.”

I exhale slowly, the bond pulling taut between us, vibrating with something I don’t have words for.

“You shouldn’t want to hold this,” I whisper.

She grins. “Then stop making it so tempting.”

Gods.

I’m so fucking screwed.

Lucien

The house breathes. It isn’t alive, not in the way humans are, not in the way Luna is. But it breathes—deep and slow, like a predator that doesn’t need to chase its prey to catch it.

Every stone in this place has been carved with intention, layered with spells so old they pulse under my skin. The corridors are too narrow and too wide at the same time. Light filters through the stained glass windows in fractured, jewel-toned shards that seem to move when you’re not looking. The furniture is grand—gilded, baroque, cruelly ornate. Designed to impress, and to intimidate.

And yet, it’s not the house I loathe.

It’sher.

Branwen sits at the head of a long obsidian table, her legs crossed, one hand curled loosely around a wine glass that she hasn’t touched. She doesn’t need to drink. The illusion is enough. Her dress is dark red silk that clings to her like blood. Her hair, ink-black and braided with gold threads, coils over one shoulder. She is breathtaking, if you don’t know what she is. If you haven’t watched her twist a man’s desires into nooses and hang him with them.

And I know.

Iknow.

Still, I bow.

Because I’mbound.

Her smile sharpens when I straighten. “Lucien,” she purrs, and her voice slides into my ears like poison wrapped in velvet. “You’ve been restless.”

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