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And when she leans in, pressing her forehead against my chest, I let myself close my arms around her, holding her like I’ve wanted to since the moment I met her and like I’ll never be able to let her go.

I breathe her in, letting that bond settle between us, molten and reckless and inevitable. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself pretend I’m not made to destroy.

Her body softens against me like she belongs here—because she does. And I should just let her stay tucked there, under my chin, her heartbeat pressed to mine, but then I feel it. That slow, crawling heat threading under her skin, not hers, not entirely.

Lust.

It’s leaking out of her, a pulse of something decadent and wicked and entirely Caspian. It's not deliberate—I know Luna better than that. She doesn’t even realize she’s bleeding his magic into me, bleeding it into the room. But it’s there. Coiling under her skin like a live wire, saturating the space between us.

I suck in a breath, sharp and involuntary, because it hits like fire. Like the kind of heat that makes men ruin themselves.

My grip on her waist tightens without meaning to, jaw clenching as I breathe her in again and try to separate her from it—fromhim. It’s not that simple. Lust doesn’t ask permission when it sinks into your bones.

She shifts, looking up at me, innocent, sweet, like she doesn’t know. Like she’s not dripping with it, thick enough that it scrapes against my skin like a physical thing.

“Riven?” Her voice is soft, questioning, and she tilts her head slightly like she’s trying to read me. Like she isn’t radiating enough heat to blister.

I stare down at her, my mouth dry, pulse ticking sharp beneath my skin. “Do you feel that?” I ask, voice pitched low, nearly a growl.

Her brows knit, confused. “Feel what?”

Caspian’s always been reckless with his power—he lets it bleed out when he isn’t looking, lets it creep into places it doesn’t belong. Right now, it’s bleeding straight into her, and from her into me.

My hands slide up her arms, slow, almost gentle despite the storm inside me. “You’re leaking,” I murmur, lips ghosting over her hairline because I can’t fucking help it. “He’s in you. Pouring into you.”

Her breath stutters, and she swallows like she’s only just realizing it now, how it thrums under her skin, how it pulses through the bond we share.

I shake my head, letting out a breathless laugh, the kind that’s dangerous because it tastes like surrender. “You’ve got no idea how hot it is,” I tell her, voice scraping rough across the space between us. “What it feels like. Having his sin dripping off you like honey.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t shy from the weight of it.

It burns, this feeling. My bond. Caspian’s sin.Her.

I tuck a hand under her chin, forcing her eyes to stay on me. “He’s flooding you without meaning to,” I murmur, dragging my thumb across her lower lip like I’m checking for poison. “And now it’s leaking into me.”

She’s breathing harder now, pupils blown, and maybe she knows now, maybe she feels how fucking hot it is—how easy it would be to fall right into that magic and forget everything else.

I let my forehead press to hers again, my voice nothing but a whisper. “Tell him to pull it back, sweetheart. Before I do something I can’t take back.”

Because I can feel it now—that soft, slow pull of her, of him, ofus, and it’s enough to drown in. But if she doesn’t, if she keeps bleeding lust into the room like this, I won’t stop.

Not until she’s on her knees for me.

Her smile tilts—slow, dangerous in the way only she can be, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And then Ifeelit. That push. Not accidental this time. She reaches throughthe bond and floods me with it—Caspian’s sin, her sin, laced together and shoved right into my bloodstream.

It hits like a blow. My knees damn near buckle.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, sharp and low, catching myself against the doorframe because the world tilts on its axis. My eyes snap to hers, wild and hot, because she’sdoing this on purpose now.She knows.

And she’s smiling about it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” I mutter, voice shredded at the edges, but I don’t stop her. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

Luna steps in, her chin tipped up, eyes locked on mine like I’m prey now. She’s so close, close enough I can feel her breath when she says, “Maybe I want to see how much you can take.”

That spark in her—pure, wicked, wanting—it knocks the breath from my lungs. My hand fists at my side because if I touch her now, I won’t stop. She knows that too.

“You don’t fight fair,” I rasp, my voice scraping like gravel, and when she tilts her head at me, all soft mockery and heat, I grin, dark and sharp and ruined.