Page 32 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

I step away from camp because if I don’t, I’ll tear something apart. The weight of the bond is a constant, relentless thing, a hook in my ribs, a tether I never asked for.

It tightens when she’s near. When she looks at me. When she breathes in my direction.

For weeks, I was locked in Severin’s hell, my body broken, my mind unraveled, but nothing, nothing, has ever crawled under my skin the way this does.

I agreed to bond with her.

Agreed. But I did not choose it. And Luna, damn her she knows that.

I hear her before I see her, boots scuffing against the uneven ground, her presence curling through the air like something inevitable.

But she stops. Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to smell her, fuck, I want to smell her. The thought alone makes my hands clench, nails biting into my palms as I drag in a breath, steadying, bracing, failing.

“I should’ve known you’d follow me,” I mutter, not turning, because if I look at her now, if I see that dark, knowing gaze pinning me in place, I might, I don’t know.

Luna doesn’t take the bait. “I gave you space.”

I huff a short, humorless laugh. “Generous of you.”

A beat of silence. She’s waiting, letting me settle into my anger, waiting to see what I do with it.

I want to tell her to leave. I want to say something cruel, something cutting, something to push her as far from me as possible.

Instead, what comes out is,

“What do you want?”

Flat. Rude. A weapon. But Luna is unchanged. Unaffected. Like she’s immune to me.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” she says simply.

Something in my chest fractures, because I am not okay, I will never be okay, and she should know that.

I finally turn to face her, and damn her again, she’s watching me with that awful, calm steadiness, like she’s waiting for me to do what I always do.

Rage. Snap. Run.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

She lifts a brow. “Would you have stayed away from me if the situation were reversed?”

I don’t answer. Because we both know the truth.

Luna tilts her head slightly, studying me, waiting for something I can’t give her.

And fuck me, I want to give it to her. I want to step closer. I want to take a breath so deep my lungs burn with her scent. I want to grab her, shake her, demand to know why the gods chose her, why this had to happen to me.

Instead, I shift my weight, flex my hands, and say, “I’m not your problem.”

She hums. Unmoved. Unshaken.

“No,” she says, voice soft, almost amused. “You’re my bond.”

Something snaps.

Not physically. Not visibly.

But inside me.

I breathe in too sharply, too ragged, the weight of it dragging through my ribs, through my veins, and I know, I know that if I touch her right now, if I let myself sink into the bond, I will hurt her.

Not because I want to. Because I am not made for softness.

She should be afraid of that. She should step back. But she has never known how to retreat.

So she stays.

And I, for all my rage and all my fucking willpower, do not chase her away.

She faces me down, head held high, like she always does. She should step back. She should give me the space I don’t know how to ask for.

But she has never done what I needed her to do. She’s never feared me the way I need her to. Never stayed away the way I begged her to, without ever saying the words.

And now, now, when my bones are brimming with rage, when my skin is too tight, when the bond is a living thing inside me, clawing and restless and screaming for her,

She steps closer. And she dares to hug me.

I go still.

Not the kind of stillness that comes from peace. The kind that comes before impact. Before something shatters, before something is irreversible.

Because she is touching me. Because she is warm. Because I want to sink into her so badly, it makes my entire body ache.

Her arms wind around me, easy, effortless, like she doesn’t know what she’s just done. Like she doesn’t realize what she’s just asked for. Her cheek presses against my chest, and I feel her breath, steady, unshaken, and it kills me, it fucking kills me, because no one has touched me like this in,

I don’t know how long.

For one awful, unraveling second, I don’t want to pull away.

But I do.

Roughly. Sharply. I push her back, just enough to put space between us, just enough to remind her who I am, who she is, what we are not.

Her hands drop, but she doesn’t move away. Her eyes flick up to mine, and fuck, she’s searching me. Looking for something I won’t let her find.

My throat works around something sharp, something I refuse to let out.

I need to say something. Something to ruin this moment. Something to put that damn distance back between us.

So I scoff, forcing my mouth into something cruel. “What the hell was that?”

Her brows lift, slow, unimpressed. “A hug, Riven.”

I drag a hand through my hair, fingers pulling hard, grounding me in the sting. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Why not?

Because I liked it. Because I wanted more. Because it made something inside me twist, shift, settle in a way I wasn’t ready for.

I glare at her. “Because I said so.”

She tilts her head, voice soft but unrelenting. “And since when do I listen to you?”

I clench my jaw. Because I have no answer for that. Because she’s never listened. And I think, deep down, I never wanted her to.

I shake my head and move further away from camp, further away from her, because if I don’t, I’ll do something stupid. Something I can’t take back.

The ground beneath my boots is uneven, jagged with the ruin of the Hollow, but I barely register it. The only thing I feel is the bond, that damn pull, that gnawing ache in my chest that refuses to die.

I hear her sigh.

A soft, exasperated exhale, like I’m the difficult one. Like she has any idea what it feels like to have someone embedded in your ribs, stitched into your soul, without your fucking consent.

Then she speaks.

"Why are you running from me, Riven?"

I stop walking.

A slow, violent pause, rage blooming hot behind my ribs.

Running?

She thinks I’m fucking running?

I turn.

No, I stomp back toward her, my steps loud, deliberate, full of the kind of aggression that should make her step back.

She watches me approach, head high, arms loose at her sides, like she’s already bracing for my anger, already expecting me to throw it at her.

And that pisses me off even more.

I don’t stop until I’m in her space, until she has to tilt her head back to look at me.

I want to see something in her expression, wariness, unease, anything that tells me she understands what she’s asking of me, what she’s pulling from me every time she refuses to let me be.

I lean in slightly, dropping my voice into something low, dangerous. “I’m not running.”

She arches a brow. “No?”

“No.” My jaw clenches. “I’m getting as far away from you as this fucking bond will let me.”

Her lips press together, her gaze flicking over my face, searching for something I don’t want to give her.

And then, the worst part.

She tilts her head, eyes dark and steady, and says,

"Why?"

Why.

Like she doesn’t know. Like she doesn’t feel it, too.

I exhale sharply, hands curling into fists at my sides. “Don’t start with me, Luna.”

She shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “You started this.”

I scoff. “The fuck I did.”

She sighs again, and I hate the way it settles in my ribs, pressing against something raw, something I can’t ignore.

“Riven,” she says quietly. Not unkind. Not cruel. Just my name, steady and knowing. “You’re fighting something that’s already won.”

She smiles. And I hate it. Not because it’s cruel. Not because she’s mocking me. But because it’s knowing. Like she sees straight through my rage, through the years of resentment I keep welded to my bones, through the way I fight every damn second to not want this bond.

Like she already knows how this ends.

She drops into her ridiculous, infuriating fighting stance, her weight shifting onto the balls of her feet, shoulders squared like she thinks she can take me.

"Fight me."

I stare at her. Then, because I can’t help myself, I roll my eyes so hard I might be able to see my past lives.

“Are you serious?” I gesture at her like she’s some kind of divine mistake. “This is your solution?”

Luna shrugs, casual as hell. “You need to get that anger out somehow.”

I scoff. “I do just fine on my own.”

“You really don’t.”

My jaw clenches. “Luna.”

She lifts a brow. Waiting. Daring me.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Why not?”

I glare. “Because I’d win.”

She smirks. “You think so?”

I blink. Stare.

“Luna,” I deadpan, “I am twice your size.”

She nods, mock-thoughtful. “Sure.”

“And I’ve spent years fighting things stronger than you.”

“Right, right.”

“And I, ” I narrow my eyes. “Are you even listening?”

She grins. “Nope.”

Oh, I am going to kill her. Or kiss her. Or, more realistically, stand here suffering while she continues to make my life miserable.

I exhale sharply. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Luna hums, then tilts her head. “Then don’t.”

And, fuck me, I don’t know if she means in a fight. Or at all.

"Stop that." My voice is rough, uneven, but she doesn’t stop.

I take a step back, but she’s already moving, quick, reckless, unrelenting, and I should’ve known better.

She swings.

A sharp, testing motion, her fist cutting through the air, aimed straight for my ribs. I sidestep easily, but she’s already adjusting, already shifting to close the gap I tried to make.

My instincts kick in. Fast. Brutal. Absolute.

I catch her wrist before she lands another hit, twisting her body with the force of her movement, sending her spinning,

But she twists with it.

A sharp pivot. A shift of weight. And suddenly,

She’s pressed against me.

Too close.

Too much.

I feel it all at once, the shape of her body against mine, the press of her hips, the sharp inhale she takes when she realizes what she’s done, what she’s walked straight into.

My grip on her wrist tightens.