Page 40 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

Elias shifts beside me, not even looking up from whatever he’s lazily toying with in his fingers, probably a knife, stolen from someone he’s already annoyed today. "You know she’s hunting you, right?" he mutters, voice thick with amusement.

I scoff, pretending not to feel the sharp heat of her gaze still pinning me from across the space. "Hunting is a strong word."

"Really? Because it looks like she’s planning how best to skin you alive."

I risk a glance, a mistake.

Luna’s standing there, arms crossed, weight shifted in that way that says you’re not getting out of this. Her dark eyes meet mine, and then, fuck, she tilts her head, just a little, jerking it toward the tree line.

The universal sign for: Come with me.

I look at Elias. I look back at her.

And then I do the only thing a reasonable man would do in this situation.

I step behind Elias like the fucking coward I am.

Elias chokes on a laugh, turning his head just enough to stare at me. "Wow. And here I thought you were fearless."

"I am fearless," I whisper-hiss. "I just, have other priorities right now."

"Like what?"

"Like, like, I don’t know. Not dying?"

Elias grins, eyes dancing with dark amusement. "You’re not gonna die, Silas. She just wants to talk."

"Exactly."

He whistles, shaking his head. "Oh, you’re so fucked."

I peek around Elias’s shoulder, hoping, praying, that maybe Luna lost interest, that maybe she got distracted by something far more interesting, like, say, an apocalypse.

No such luck.

She’s still standing there, still watching me, still waiting.

She knows.

Of course, she knows. I felt it the second I slipped up, the second she felt what I felt, what I wasn’t supposed to let her feel.

It had been too much, that surge of warmth, that overwhelming adoration that I spent most of my existence stuffing down beneath jokes and distractions and outright denial.

But for just a second, that bond between us cracked open, and I know she felt it.

And now she wants to talk about it.

And I, do not.

Elias sighs, shaking his head. "Just go, man. You’re making this worse."

"Nope."

"She’s just gonna chase you down later, and we both know you can’t outrun her."

"Not if I run fast enough."

Elias laughs. "She’s a Sin-Binder, dumbass. You’re bound to her. She can track you wherever you go."

I grimace. "Technicalities."

And then, fuck me, Luna starts walking toward us.

I freeze. Elias’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

"You have two choices," he whispers. "Go with her willingly, or let her drag you by the ear in front of everyone."

I groan, slumping forward in dramatic, I’m-about-to-die resignation. "I hate you."

"I know."

And then, with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to his execution, I turn to face my fate.

I square my shoulders like I haven’t just been cornered by the woman who has a direct line to every irrational part of me.

With the bravado of a man who isn’t panicking inside, I step around Elias, sauntering toward her like this is my stage and she’s just a reluctant audience member.

She’s already watching me, arms folded, mouth tight, that gaze of hers scalding through every layer of my very well-maintained denial. Luna. Of course, it’s her.

“Fine day we’re having, don’t you think?” I say, all breezy charm as if we’re at some garden party instead of standing on cursed ground still damp from monster blood. “Bit of breeze, lovely apocalypse-gray skies. Romantic, if you squint.”

Her blink is slow. Lethal. Like a countdown.

“And can we talk about the aesthetic of this place?” I continue because I’m a coward who hides behind commentary. “That blood-mist hue earlier? Violet. Classy. I give it a strong eight out of ten, points off for the screaming trees, though. Not really vibing with their pitch.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink now. She’s just standing there in that unreadable way that makes me want to either kiss her or bolt for the nearest cave.

I ramble harder.

“I think the monsters need wardrobe coordination. Maybe some matching cloaks? Sequined teeth? Just spitballing, obviously. But if Severin’s going to send wave after wave of nightmare fodder at us, the least he could do is dress them with a little, ”

“Silas.”

She cuts me off with just my name. One word. My name is a sentence. A death sentence.

I smile wider. It’s a nervous tic at this point. “Yes, my deadly delightful day-ruiner?”

She cocks her head, unimpressed. “Are you seriously talking about the weather right now?”

“I’m a complex man, Luna. I contain multitudes. Deep-rooted emotional issues and an impeccable awareness of environmental nuance.”

She takes a step forward.

I backpedal into Elias, who doesn’t move, because of course he doesn’t. He watches this like it’s a theater. Like he’s waiting for me to fall flat on my face, again.

“You’re avoiding the conversation,” Luna says. Calm. Cool. Sharp enough to draw blood without lifting a blade.

“I’m not avoiding,” I protest, raising my hands like that makes my cowardice more palatable. “I’m…redirecting. It’s strategic. Very high-level maturity.”

Her stare stays on me, steady and unblinking, and I feel it like pressure in my chest, right where the bond sits and hums and claws.

The moment stretches. And I crack. Just a little.

“Okay,” I breathe, letting the smirk falter. “Maybe I’m avoiding a little. But can you blame me? Last time we talked, really talked, I felt things. And I don’t do feelings. I do jokes. Distractions. Chaos. You want introspection? That’s Orin’s job.”

Something shifts in her. The sharpness doesn’t vanish, but it softens around the edges. Just a little. Like she sees the wreckage underneath the idiot I’ve been pretending to be.

And that’s the part that ruins me.

Because even when I’m being ridiculous, even when I’m hiding, she still sees me.

Elias shoves me. Hard. With such petty vengeance, it startles a yelp out of me, and I trip over my boots like a drunk bard on festival night.

Elias shouldn’t be that strong. Or motivated.

But he’s got that gleam in his eye, the I’m-done-with-your-shit gleam, and before I can brace myself or twist out of the fall, I crash.

Right into her.

My entire body slams against Luna’s with a force that should be a crime against the gods, and we hit the ground in a tangled sprawl of limbs and disbelief.

Her breath whooshes out in a soft, startled noise that goes straight to my soul.

I know that sound. I’ve made it my mission to collect every version of it.

"Ow," I mutter, mostly for effect. "Okay, that one wasn’t me. That was Elias. Full-on betrayal. You saw it, right?"

She blinks up at me, her hair splayed like a halo of darkness beneath her, lips parted in surprise, and I forget how to breathe.

My hands are on her hips. Her thighs bracket mine. We are way too close for deniability, and I can feel the bond humming between us like it's pleased with the outcome. Of course it is. That damn thing always roots for chaos.

Her eyes narrow, skeptical. “You're blaming Elias for this?”

“Uh, yes?” I say, indignant, even as I refuse to move. "He shoved me with violent intent. I flew like a majestic, unwilling bird. Right into your trap-like arms.”

Her brows shoot up. “Trap-like?”

“Viciously so.” I nod solemnly, pretending my heart isn’t slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to crawl into her chest. “I barely survived.”

She should push me off. She should roll her eyes and tell me to get my annoying self off of her before she sets me on fire or worse. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stays right where she is.

And her hands, traitorous, wonderful hands settle against my chest like she doesn’t hate the feel of me.

Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt, and I stop breathing altogether.

Because now I know she can feel it. The bond.

My heartbeat. The way everything inside me twists violently toward her like I’m not the chaos, I’m just what the chaos wants.

“I’m innocent,” I whisper, eyes locked to hers. “Completely innocent.”

“You’re never innocent.”

“Okay, fair,” I concede with a grin. “But I swear this time, I wasn’t even trying to fall for you.”

It slips out before I can stop it. Too honest. Too much. I feel it hit her like a flare, bright and hot between us, and I prepare for the sting of her rejection.

But all she does is stare at me.

And smile.

Which is, frankly, much more dangerous.

I roll off her like a martyr draped in glory.

Not just any roll, a majestic, poetic tumble onto my back, arms out like I’m posing for a painting no one asked for.

Dirt clings to my shoulder, my hip, my pride, but I play it off like I meant to be here.

Like I’ve always meant to fall into her orbit and crash gloriously.

“Grace,” I declare to the sky. “Pure grace.”

She’s still blinking at me, flattened beneath whatever spell we both pretended wasn’t cast, and I shove up on one elbow and hold out my hand. “Milady,” I say, wagging my eyebrows like a complete menace. “May I rescue you from the villainous clutches of gravity?”

She takes my hand. Doesn’t even hesitate. Her palm fits against mine too well, warm and sure, and when I pull her up, her body brushes against mine for one lingering moment before we settle awkwardly into upright.

And then she ruins me.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

It’s not cruel. It’s not taunting. It’s soft. Too soft. The kind of question meant to unravel people like me.

I blink. “Afraid?” I scoff, and immediately regret how high my voice pitches. “Of you?”

She crosses her arms. “You dodge. You deflect. You flirt like a drunk jester. And the second I get close , really close , you run.”

I pretend to gasp. “I have never run. I have strategically relocated.”

She waits. Silent. Expectant. And that’s the worst of it , she’s not teasing me. She’s not mad. She’s curious. Like peeling back my layers might mean something to her.