Page 38 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

The battlefield is chaos, but I am not. I cut through the onslaught with the kind of precision that has been honed over centuries.

Every movement is deliberate, controlled, Pride does not allow for sloppiness.

My sword, forged in the fires of my power, moves like an extension of myself, slicing through flesh, bone, and shadow with effortless cruelty.

Severin’s creatures are grotesque, twisted mockeries of life, stitched together by dark magic and desperation, but it doesn’t matter.

They all fall the same.

One lunges, all teeth and claws, its body convulsing as it tries to resist the gravitational pull of my will.

Foolish. My power wraps around its limbs like invisible chains, locking its joints, forcing it to kneel even as it fights against the inevitable.

I tilt my head, watching the way it trembles, the way its body betrays it under the weight of my Dominion.

I do not give it the mercy of hesitation.

My blade is already moving, a blur of silver and shadow.

The creature's head barely has time to drop before I’m already turning, already engaging the next wave.

I do not fight with desperation, I fight with certainty.

There is no wasted effort, no unnecessary movement, only the brutal efficiency of someone who has never lost a battle.

The monsters try to swarm me.

I let them.

They think me outnumbered. They do not understand that I am the ruin they should have feared.

The moment they are close enough, I release the full force of my power.

Dominion crashes down upon them, a command so absolute it doesn’t require words.

Their bodies seize mid-motion, their snarls choking off into panicked whimpers as I force them to bow.

One by one, they drop to their knees, clawed hands grasping at their throats as their bodies betray them.

I walk through their frozen ranks, stepping over the twitching forms of those who tried to resist.

I do not stop until I reach the largest of them, the one that dared to think it could kill me.

It gurgles, body trembling as it fights against the inevitable.

I crouch before it, gripping its face in my gloved hand, forcing it to look at me. Its eyes are filled with terror. Good.

“You were dead the moment you laid eyes on me,” I murmur.

Then I crush its skull beneath my grip.

The moment it dies, I release my hold on the others. They do not get the chance to recover.

My sword is already moving, cleaving through flesh, severing limbs, reducing them to nothing more than corpses littering the ground at my feet.

By the time the last body falls, my breath is steady, my stance unwavering. There was never a question of victory.

And yet, despite the massacre, I feel her eyes on me.

I turn, and Luna is standing there, watching. Not with fear. Not with disgust.

With something else entirely.

She is reckless. Foolish. And yet, she survives. She thrives.

She does not obey me.

The thought grates, an old wound torn open once more. I have spent centuries bending the will of lesser beings. My power demands submission, commands obedience, but her?

She stands beyond my reach.

And I do not know if I want to break her or kneel before her.

A snarl pulls my focus back. A creature, larger than the rest, more twisted, more wrong, barrels toward me. Its limbs are a mockery of human form, elongated, jointed in the wrong places, its face an amalgamation of features that do not belong together.

Disgusting.

It means to kill me.

I raise my hand. It stops. Not by choice. Not by instinct. By command.

Its body seizes, its limbs locking in place as my power threads through its being, tightening like a noose. It struggles, but there is no fighting me. I step forward, slow, measured, as its own body betrays it, as I force it to kneel. Pride demands it. Dominion enforces it.

Its choked snarl is cut short as I drive my blade through its skull.

Another corpse. Another failure of Severin’s. They’re not Severin’s best. They’re a distraction. I see it for what it is. A delay. A way to keep us here, fighting pointless battles while he moves his pieces elsewhere.

The others are catching their breath, Luna’s blade dripping with the ruin she’s left behind, Riven is standing too close to her, as if whatever moment they shared in the heat of combat still clings between them.

Elias is leaning on his weapon like this was all just a mild inconvenience, while Orin, always the observer, studies the battlefield like he’s waiting for the next move.

But I know what Severin wants.

“Keep moving,” I order, my voice cutting through the settling silence like a blade. It’s not a suggestion.

Luna’s eyes snap to mine first, always the one to resist, to test the limits of my patience. She thinks she has a choice.

But this is not up for debate.

“We don’t have time for this,” I continue, stepping over a twitching corpse without sparing it a glance.

“Severin’s stalling us. Every second we waste here, he gets further ahead.

” I look at Orin first, because he’s the only one of them who understands what it means to make hard decisions. “We need to move.”

Orin gives a slow, thoughtful nod, but Luna doesn’t move.

She’s staring at me, unreadable, her blade still in hand like she’s waiting for something.

A challenge.

An excuse.

I step toward her, closing the space between us with the kind of deliberate calm that precedes violence. “Don’t argue,” I say, voice dropping low, lethal. “Not now.”

Luna lifts her chin, stubborn. Defiant. It should annoy me, it does. And yet, I feel that same pull, that same insufferable, unrelenting gravity that always exists between us.

I lower my voice, just for her. Just enough to let the words slide against her skin like a blade pressed too close to the throat.

“Move,” I tell her. “Before I make you.”

Her breath catches. Just for a second. She steps back, but not in surrender, in understanding.

I turn away before I do something reckless. Before I acknowledge the heat of her magic brushing against mine, the way my Dominion wants to coil around her, wants to make her obey.

Walking is slow. Agonizing. The undead horses, our usual means of traversing this nightmare realm, are nowhere to be found, likely scattered, as if even they know better than to linger in the wake of whatever Severin has planned for us.

I push ahead of the group, striding forward without looking back, because if I stop, if I let myself settle into their presence, the weight of it will slow me down.

I cannot afford to be slow.

Caspian and Ambrose are still missing.

And I don’t know if I believe what Orin told us. That it was Branwen’s scent. That she’s the one who took them. It would be just our luck that she’s returned. That the first Sin Binder has come to remind us exactly how this story ends.

I grind my teeth, jaw clenching so tight it aches, because the truth is, I was a fool back then.

Branwen came when we were still learning what we were, when the Rift spat us out and we were more beasts than men, creatures bound by something older than language, something stitched into our bones. She called herself inevitable.

And I let her bind me. Because it made sense. Because I thought we needed structure. Because I thought we needed her.

It had been easy at first. She was acceptable. Until she wasn’t.

Until she held a Pride-forged weapon to my throat and smiled.

Until she tried to own us.

My fingers curl into fists as I walk, and I don’t realize I’ve stopped until I hear Luna’s footsteps behind me, slower, cautious. She always knows when to follow me. When to test me.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. "If it’s Branwen," I say, my voice lower than I mean for it to be, "then she’s come to finish what she started."

Her chin tilts slightly, her gaze fixed on me, unwavering. "And what did she start?"

A war.

A mistake.

A fucking disaster.

I don’t answer. Not immediately. Instead, I let my power settle, the Dominion rising in my voice like a tangible force as I murmur, "You should hope you never find out."

Luna’s lips press together, her expression unreadable. She hates when I do that. Hates when I try to warn her off, when I treat her like someone to be shielded instead of someone standing beside me, blade drawn.

But this is different. This isn’t Severin’s schemes, not another one of his endless manipulations. This is something older. Something worse.

Luna steps closer. Not touching, but near enough that I feel the weight of her magic pressing against mine, a silent battle neither of us acknowledges. She smells like the battle we just fought, like blood and embers, like the fucking inevitability she refuses to acknowledge.

And then, softly, too softly, she says, "Lucien."

I hate the way my name sounds in her mouth.

Like it belongs to her.

Like it means something.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to look away, to start walking again. "Keep up," I order. "I’m not slowing down."

And I know, without question, that whatever happens next, whatever war is coming, she will not let me fight it alone.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

I don’t stop walking. I don’t let myself. Because if I stop, if I turn to look at her, to acknowledge that she’s waiting for an answer, I might give her one. And that is not something I can afford.

She walks beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth, a pulse of heat against my skin, against the space where the bond should exist but doesn’t, because I refuse to let it.

Because if I acknowledge it, if I give it a name, it will become real.

She watches me, waiting, demanding something I will not give. I can feel the weight of her gaze on my profile, burning through my composure like she has a right to it.

I inhale slowly, measured, a breath meant to keep my voice even when I finally answer.

"I don’t hate you."

It’s not the answer she wants.

I know that before I even say it.