Page 19 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

The chains pulse. They don’t just hold me, they consume me. Magic burrows into my skin, hooks itself into my marrow, and slithers through my veins like a living thing. Not steel. Not iron. Something far worse.

The cuffs at my wrists burn constantly, sending sharp, electric pulses through my arms, punishment.

The links winding across my chest constrict every few minutes, crushing my ribs just enough to splinter them, to bruise deep, to remind me that I am theirs to break.

The moment they loosen, my body knits itself back together, bone fusing, flesh mending, only for the cycle to start again. Over and over.

Agony. Reprieve. Agony.

I let my head drop forward, my breath ragged. The air here is thick, soured by something I refuse to name. My skin is damp with blood that isn’t mine or maybe it is, but I refuse to feel it, to acknowledge the slick warmth trickling down my ribs, staining the floor beneath me.

It doesn’t matter.

Pain has never mattered.

The only thing that does is waiting.

Because no cage has ever held me for long.

Footsteps echo through the chamber. Slow, unhurried. Familiar.

A voice, low, rich, edged with something sharp enough to cut. "You look like shit, brother."

My lips curl, dry and cracked. “Vaelrik.” I don’t bother hiding my distaste. “You still wasting your time licking blood from the floor, or did you finally learn how to clean up after yourself?”

A laugh. Deep, throaty. "You think that’s an insult? You wound me, truly."

I feel him more than I see him, the heat of his presence, the way the air warps around him, charged with violence waiting to be unleashed. My brother doesn’t breathe in magic the way I do, doesn’t turn pain into a blade he can wield.

Vaelrik thrives on carnage.

The more blood that spills, the stronger he becomes.

And right now?

He is sated.

The scent of it clings to him, fresh, coppery, thick with the kind of ruin that only comes from bodies torn apart too quickly to scream.

He’s been feeding.

"You should see what they’ve been doing outside," he muses, circling me like a predator sizing up something already ensnared. "They wanted to be merciful at first. Thought they could keep me entertained without making a mess. But Severin knows better." A pause. "They always break in the end."

I know what he’s doing. Taunting. Goading. Trying to get a rise out of me the way he always has, like we’re back at the Academy, standing in the ring, waiting for the first strike.

It won’t work.

I exhale slowly, lifting my gaze. “That’s the difference between us, Vaelrik.” My voice is raw, low. "You’ve never been interested in the fight. Just the killing."

His expression shifts, amusement flickering into something more dangerous. "And you think you’re better than me because of it?"

"No. Just smarter."

I watch the muscle in his jaw twitch, a slow, deliberate reaction that would go unnoticed by anyone else. But I know him. I know exactly how close he is to snapping, how easily he’d unravel if I pushed hard enough.

It used to be effortless, turning his rage against him, feeding the very hunger that made him reckless.

Now?

Now I don’t have time to waste on old games.

"You shouldn’t be here," I say instead. "You never could resist the smell of blood, but I doubt Severin lets his dogs off the leash for nothing."

His smirk returns, lazy. "You still talk like you’re the one in control."

I am in control. Even here. Even chained. Even bleeding.

His smirk sharpens. "You know why they let me come in?" He crouches, gripping the chains at my wrists, pulling just enough to make the cuffs bite deeper. "Because I asked."

A slow, steady pulse of energy surges into me, forcing my head back, forcing my spine to arch, dragging pain down my ribs like claws. But it isn’t the chains this time.

It’s him.

Vaelrik leans in, breath brushing against my jaw, his voice low and mocking. "I wanted to see it for myself. How far you’d fall. How long before you break."

I meet his gaze. Hold it. And smile.

"Keep waiting," I murmur. "You’ll die long before that happens."

Vaelrik has always been a sadist, but he’s never been creative about it.

He doesn’t waste breath on subtle cruelty. Doesn’t toy with emotions the way others might. No, his knives carve straight to the bone, blunt force trauma disguised as words.

And he knows exactly where to cut.

"You let it happen, didn’t you?" He leans in, eyes gleaming with something feral. "The great Riven Kain, chained. Not just here." His fingers graze my throat, pressing against the collar, biting into my skin. "But to her."

I don’t react. I don’t give him anything.

Because this is what he wants, to see it. The crack beneath the surface. The proof that Luna Evernight is a wound I can’t close.

He exhales, amused. "She got inside you. I can feel it."

Vaelrik was always more animal than man, his instincts honed sharper than even Lucien’s cold precision. He doesn’t need magic to sense weakness, he can smell it.

And this, the bond, the connection threading between my ribs like a blade that refuses to kill me, is blood in the water.

"I thought you were smarter than this." He circles me again, dragging his fingers along the chains stretched across my chest, watching them tighten on cue. "You, of all people, should know what happens when you let someone else in."

I do know.

I know it better than he ever could.

Because I’ve seen what happens when bonds fail.

I’ve seen what happens when something is bound too tightly, when power latches onto something fragile, something breakable, and ruins it from the inside out.

"You’re quiet." Vaelrik tilts his head, a smirk curling slowly at the edges of his mouth. "That’s unlike you. Normally, you’d be, " he lifts a hand, mimicking a mouth moving, "snarling, fighting, lashing out. But you’re just sitting here, licking your wounds, like a hound waiting for its master to come back. "

I almost laugh. But because he thinks he understands.

"You want me angry," I murmur, tilting my head back against the cold stone wall. "That’s cute."

His grin widens. "No, brother."

The next thing I feel is fire.

Not real fire. Not flame or heat, but the sick, devouring burn of him.

The way his power sinks into the marrow of the world, feeding, pulling, swelling, drinking in whatever carnage was spilled outside this chamber.

He thrives in it. The aftermath. The violence.

And he wants me to feel it, the same way I feel pain, wants me to understand that he has the advantage here.

"You should be angry," he continues, voice soft, taunting. "Because she’s out there, and you’re in here. And for someone like you, that’s not just an inconvenience.

" He crouches down, so close I can see the flecks of crimson burning in his eyes, the telltale sign of his body drinking deep from whatever bloodshed he left behind. "It’s a leash."

The word slithers between us, settling in the space where he wants guilt to bloom.

"Tell me, brother." He grips my jaw, forcing my head up, his fingers digging into the bruises already forming. "Does she feel it? When they tear you apart?"

Something inside me stills.

Vaelrik’s smirk doesn’t falter, but I see the flicker of something deeper behind his eyes, watching, waiting, reading.

Waiting to see if he landed the blow.

I exhale slowly, letting my lips curve into something lazy. Something effortless. "Why?" My voice is rough, scraping against my throat. "Are you jealous?"

That makes his grip tighten.

"You always hated when something was mine." I let my head tilt, let my lips ghost against his knuckles, the mockery deliberate. "Does it bother you, Vaelrik? That I chose something else over you?"

Vaelrik watches me the way a man watches something already broken.

He’s waiting. Not for my answer. For my resistance.

Because that’s always been the fun part for him, watching me fight, watching me bare my teeth and snap at the leash, watching me lose.

He exhales, slow and indulgent. "It doesn’t have to be like this, you know."

I tilt my head back against the wall, shifting my shoulders, ignoring the way the chains constrict like they’re sentient, like they can sense him. "That’s adorable," I murmur. "You almost sound sincere."

Vaelrik grins. "I am sincere."

He reaches out, dragging a lazy finger over the runes carved into my shackles. My vision pulses, just for a moment, dark and searing as the magic reacts to him, like it knows we share blood.

I don’t flinch.

He doesn’t stop smiling. "You think this is satisfying for me? Watching you waste away, rotting in Severin’s playroom, feeding your pain into nothing?" He leans in, voice softer. "You think this is what I wanted for you?"

A chuckle pushes past my teeth, raw and dry. "Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you’re suddenly sentimental."

"Not sentimental." His fingers close around the shackles at my wrists, just enough pressure to make the magic flare. "Strategic."

The magic burns, but I don’t give him the reaction he’s looking for. I just arch a brow, waiting.

Vaelrik watches me for another moment, then exhales, shaking his head. "You always needed a reason to fight." His grip tightens. "A purpose. Some noble fucking cause to make it all worthwhile. But look where it’s gotten you."

His gaze drops pointedly to my ribs, to the bruises already blooming beneath the shackles, to the slow trickle of blood down my arms where the runes have been eating through my skin. "Tell me, Riven." His voice dips lower, a slow drag of a blade against flesh. "Was it worth it?"

The laugh that rips from my throat is almost genuine. Because of course this is where he’s going with this.

"You think you’ve got something better to offer?" I meet his eyes, unblinking. "Go on then. Convince me."

Vaelrik’s lips curl, pleased. "You stay here." He gestures around us. "You fight with us. No more leashes. No more taking orders from Lucien. No more binding yourself to things that make you weak."

My stomach twists, but I don’t let it show. "You mean no more binding myself to her."

His grin widens. "Exactly."

I should have known this was coming. Because Vaelrik doesn’t just hate that I stayed behind at Daemon Academy, that I let myself be controlled. He hates why.

He hates that I let myself be claimed, by something other than war.

By something other than him.

I exhale slowly. "And what? You let me out of these chains out of the goodness of your heart?"

"No." His fingers trail down to my collar, the touch so light it makes my skin crawl. "I let you out because I know what you are, Riven. You weren’t made to be tamed."

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. "You were made for this, chaos, carnage, blood in your teeth and fire in your veins. You think she understands that? You think she’ll let you be what you are?"

His thumb presses beneath my jaw, tilting my chin up just slightly. "Tell me, brother." His voice drops to a whisper. "When she looks at you, do you think she sees a man?" A pause. "Or a monster waiting to be put down?"

My breath is steady. My pulse is not.

Because the worst part?

The worst part is that I’ve thought about it.

About the way Luna watches me sometimes, like she’s trying to understand what I am, like she hasn’t decided whether to save me or survive me.

Like she knows, deep down, that I might not be hers to keep.

Vaelrik must see the flicker of it in my face, because he leans in, pressing his lips to my ear like he’s telling a secret. "You don’t have to die for them."

The words slither through my ribs, sink deep.

"You don’t have to die for her."

And that is what makes me laugh.

Because he fucking thinks this is about survival.

I grin, tilting my head just enough to meet his eyes. "That’s where you’re wrong, Vaelrik." My voice is quiet. "I don’t mind dying for her."

Vaelrik stills.

Not in surprise. Not in anger.

Something worse.

Something like understanding.

Because now he knows.

Knows that there’s nothing left to break in me.

Knows that he could carve into me for days, strip me down to blood and ruin, and it wouldn’t change a thing.

Because I have already chosen my side.

And I will never be his.

The moment fractures, the air between us turns sharp.

Vaelrik exhales through his nose, shaking his head, almost… disappointed. "Such a fucking waste."

Then he’s gone, the heat of him retreating, his presence sliding back into the dark.

I exhale slowly, pressing my head against the wall, rolling my shoulders against the chains.

They tighten.

I smile.