Page 19 of The Sin Binder’s Destiny (The Seven Sins Academy #5)

Behind him, Elias is laughing so hard he’s doubled over.

And from the shadowed alcove at the far end of the cathedral, I catch it—the faintest flicker of movement.

Luna.

Watching. Her hand pressed to her mouth like she can’t decide whether to scream or laugh or murder all three of us.

Perfect.

I straighten, grinning so wide it hurts.

Lucien grabs me by the front of my shirt, shoving me back a step. “What the hell was that?”

I glance pointedly over his shoulder, where Luna’s shadow lingers.

“Hero moment,” I say, voice all sugar and vinegar. “You’re welcome.”

And before he can throttle me, I wink, lean in, and whisper “She’s watching you.”

His hands go slack.

Caspian

The sanctum feels too clean. It stretches wide and gleaming beneath us, marble floors polished to perfection, every inch of stone meticulously restored in Branwen’s image. The stained glass above scatters fractured light across the floor, too bright, too beautiful for what this place truly is—a grave.

We’re all standing in the belly of her ghost, and every step feels like it echoes too loudly.

The pillar looms in the center of the room, rebuilt after the war, pristine and useless. A monument to her obsession. It doesn’t hum with power the way it used to. It just stands there now—ornamental, hollow. A reminder of how much it cost us to tear her apart.

None of us speak for a moment. We’re all looking at the same thing. And none of us want to be the first to say what we’re thinking.

It’s Luna who moves first, her footsteps quiet as she crosses the threshold and stops a few paces away from me. She folds her arms across her chest, her chin tilted just enough to look calm, detached, but I know better. I can feel her magic thrumming faintly where it brushes against mine—the bond still open between us, still warm.

Lucien lingers near the back of the group, rigid and sharp as ever, eyes locked on the pillar like it might bite. He hasn’t looked at her once. But I can feel the weight of his gaze every time she moves, like he’s watching her without letting himself look.

It’s the same damn thing every day. The fracture between them pressing at the edges of all of us, sharp enough to draw blood.

I hate it.

Orin is the one who breaks the quiet, his voice slow and deliberate, as if he’s already spent hours thinking through the question and only now decided to let us catch up. “The pillar is empty.”

He doesn’t need to say it. We all know it. But hearing him lay the truth bare still lands like a blade across the room.

Elias huffs beside me, shifting his weight like he wants something to punch. “So what? We came all this way just to stare at it?”

“It’s not functional,” Orin clarifies, his gaze cutting to Elias briefly before settling back on the pillar. “Branwen built this one as a mirror. A copy of the real pillars from the old world. But without her magic anchoring it—there’s nothing left.”

flops down on a fractured slab of marble at the edge of the room, stretching his legs in front of him like he doesn’t care if this is a cathedral or a battleground. “You’re saying we’re stuck.”

Orin’s mouth tightens, but it’s Lucien who answers, his voice rough and clipped. “No one said that.”

That earns a flicker from Luna—her head snapping toward him, sharp and brittle, but she doesn’t speak. She’s listening now, whether she wants to or not.

Lucien glances at Orin, something unreadable in his expression. “If Branwen built this place as a copy,” he says carefully, “she wouldn’t have stopped with this.”

Orin arches a brow, quiet approval ghosting across his face. “Precisely.”

Lucien’s gaze doesn’t leave him. “She modeled the Hollow after the empire she lost. She was obsessive. Methodical. She wouldn’t have relied on a single exit.”

groans dramatically, throwing his arms wide. “So what, she built a matching set? Great. Let’s just stroll through every cursed corner of this place until we trip over another door.”

But Orin shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “Not every corner.”

The weight in his voice is enough to quiet even . We’re all watching him now, waiting, because when Orin starts thinking like this—carefully, strategically—it means we’re about to be asked to do something stupid and dangerous.

Luna uncrosses her arms, her voice steady but clipped. “You have a theory.”

Orin’s eyes slide toward her, thoughtful. “Branwen didn’t waste power. She wouldn’t have replicated safe places—the markets, the houses, the gardens. She would’ve rebuilt what mattered. The sites of power. The ones no one would dare to search.”

The implication hangs in the air between us like a knife.

Riven’s brow furrows, voice low. “The blood sites.”

Orin nods once, slow. “The places from the old world where the magic ran deepest. Where she made her first sacrifices. The ones she used to bind the empire in the first place.”

Lucien’s mouth curves into something sharp and hollow, like he’s already two steps ahead. “The Warden’s Keep.”

Orin glances at him, something grim settling in his eyes. “The Labyrinth under Veythra. The Rook’s Hollow.”

I exhale slowly, the names sinking into me like stones. We know those places. We bled in those places. They aren’t just dangerous—they’re cursed.

slumps back on his slab, muttering under his breath. “Brilliant. I’ve always wanted to take a scenic tour of Branwen’s greatest hits.”

Luna’s arms drop to her sides, her eyes still locked on Orin. “You think she built another pillar in one of them.”

“It’s what I would’ve done,” Lucien says quietly, without looking at her.

The room stills at that, the weight of his voice hanging there like a blade suspended over all of us.

Luna’s gaze cuts to him, sharp and unreadable. I can feel the way her magic flares slightly in the bond, unsettled, uncertain.

She hates that he’s right.

Elias clears his throat beside me, glancing between them like he’s waiting for one of them to flinch. “So we’re going hunting.”

Orin gives a slow nod. “If we want to get out of this place, yes. We start with the Keep. If Branwen left herself another exit, that’s where it will be.”

Riven’s jaw flexes, his arms folding over his chest. “That place is a tomb.”

“We’ve walked through worse,” I murmur, glancing at Luna, letting my voice soften just enough to catch her attention.

She glances at me then, and something in her eyes eases, just slightly. Like she’s letting herself believe it for the first time in weeks.

But when she looks past me, toward Lucien, that softness vanishes.

He’s already looking at her.

And she doesn’t look back.

Orin straightens, already turning toward the sanctum doors. “We move at first light.”

I linger for a moment longer, waiting for Luna to move. When she finally does, she brushes past me lightly, her fingers grazing my wrist in a way that feels deliberate.

The others move ahead without us, their footsteps fading into the hush of the path winding back toward the village—back to the hollowed-out shell Branwen carved to look like home. I let them go. Let Orin’s deliberate stride and Riven’s watchful silence melt into the distance. Even ’s too-loud humming and Elias’s low, cringey muttering fade beneath the thrum of something heavier threading through the night air.

Because she’s here.

Because I’m here.

And I’ve spent too long pretending I don’t want her like I want to burn. She walks beside me, her gaze flicking after the others, like she’s already thinking of how to keep the fragile thing between us from fracturing any further. But her body tells a different story—the tension curled in her shoulders, the weight she carries like she’s forgotten how to let herself breathe.

I slow my stride, let a smirk curl at the corner of my mouth, just loud enough to cut through whatever storm is brewing in her head. “You know,” I murmur, my voice slipping low, almost lazy, “it’s criminal how tightly wound you’ve been lately.”

She flicks her eyes toward me, sharp and assessing, but there’s something else beneath it—something warm. Familiar. I haven’t seen it in weeks.

“Is that so?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral, but I catch the slight arch of her brow.

I hum, deliberate, decadent. “Mm. You’re carrying it in your shoulders. In the way you don’t quite look at anyone except when you’re ready to gut them.”

Her lips twitch, but she bites down on it too fast. She’s trying to keep her distance, but I know her tells. I know her body like I know my own.

I slow again until she’s forced to match my pace, until we’re moving just a little behind the others, far enough back that no one can hear us. “And,” I add, my voice slipping like silk between us, “I’d be a shitty sin if I didn’t offer to… help.”

Her breath hitches, almost imperceptible. She’s trying not to react. But she wants to.

“What kind of help?” she asks carefully, though I can hear the interest tangled in her voice.

I glance sideways at her, let my gaze drag deliberately over the line of her throat, the way her lips part slightly when she asks. “The kind that would make you forget every single fucked-up thing about this place,” I say, voice lower now, heat curling at the edges. “The kind that would leave you boneless.”

Her laugh is soft, involuntary. That’s what I want. That sound. That crack in her armor.

“You’re full of yourself today,” she says.

I make a sound low in my throat. “No, darling. I’m Lust.”

Her eyes flick toward me again, sharper this time, almost challenging. “You’ve been quiet about that lately.”

I shrug, casual, wicked. “Didn’t seem fair, throwing matches at you when everything was already on fire.”

Her throat works, her steps falter for half a second. She’s trying to look ahead, to pretend she doesn’t notice the way my voice curls under her skin like silk rope. But I know better.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, dipping my head slightly, “do you want me to make you forget him?”

That earns me a sharp glance, fire licking behind her eyes, but there’s heat there too. A flicker of something dangerous, something that tastes like yes..

I take another step closer, my shoulder brushing hers deliberately now, heat curling in the space between us like smoke.

“Say the word,” I murmur, voice a razor against her skin. “And I’ll make you forget every single thing weighing you down. Right here. Right now.”

Her pulse jumps in her throat.

She doesn’t say no.

And I know her well enough to know—that’s as good as yes.

“I’ve missed you exactly like this.”

That smile slides slow across my mouth, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous. “It was all still inside me,” I murmur, my gaze raking over her, letting her feel how I look at her—like I’ve already stripped her bare in my mind. “Just waiting for you to notice.”

Her breath catches, so slight anyone else might miss it. But I don’t. I catalog every shift in her, every glance, every parting of her lips.

I step closer, deliberate, my fingers ghosting along the back of her wrist until she shivers. I want her trembling before I even touch her properly. I want her aching before I ever put my hands on her skin.

“You’ve been good,” I murmur, voice curling low and dark. “You’ve let the others look after you. Let them patch you up. But you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

She exhales, sharp, breathless. “Caspian—”

I cut her off with a tilt of my head, my thumb dragging slow and shameless over the inside of her wrist. “You’ve forgotten what I do to you.”

Her breath hitches again.

I step into her space fully now, my body brushing hers deliberately, not rough but insistent, like gravity itself has snapped beneath us. My mouth is at her ear before she can pull away—not that she wants to.

“You want to know what I missed most?” I murmur, my voice a sin in itself. “That sound you make when you come for me. That little whimper at the end when you fall apart.”

Her whole body goes tight at that, her breath stuttering out in a sharp little exhale she can’t swallow down.

I move before she can rethink it, tugging her off the path, away from the road, into the narrow clearing between the trees. I don’t stop walking until I’ve got her pinned with her back against the rough bark of one of those hollowed-out trees, my body caging hers in.

I lean in slow, my mouth ghosting just above hers, my hands braced against the tree on either side of her head. “You want me to be sweet tonight?” I murmur, my voice velvet-dagger soft. “Because I can be. I can fuck you soft, gentle, make you forget who you are.”

Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t answer.

I let my smile sharpen, wicked. “Or,” I breathe, “I can ruin you.”

Her breath shudders out. “Caspian.”

I drag my mouth along her jaw, slow, deliberate, letting my breath tickle her skin without giving her the weight of me yet. “You don’t want soft tonight,” I murmur against her throat. “You want me to remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

She swallows hard, her pulse fluttering beneath my lips. “Yes.”

My hand slides up her thigh, slow and steady, fingers grazing over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, until I’ve got one hand planted possessively at her throat, thumb grazing the hollow beneath her jaw. Not tight. Just there. A promise.

“You’re wet already,” I murmur, dragging my thigh between hers deliberately, grinding slow against her core. “I haven’t even touched you properly.”

Her breath shatters against my mouth. “You’re such a bastard.”

I laugh, low and dark, ducking my head until my lips graze the corner of her mouth. “You love me for it.”

She fists her hands in the front of my shirt, dragging me down until our mouths finally meet—hot and sharp and messy. She kisses me like she’s starving, like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin, and I let her.

But I don’t let her keep control.

My hand slides beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, lazy and lingering like I’ve got all night. Because I do. Because I’m going to make this last until she’s ruined.

When I slide my fingers lower, beneath the waistband of her pants, she gasps against my mouth. I swallow the sound like a man dying of thirst.

“You’ve missed me like this,” I murmur again, dragging my lips down her throat as my fingers find her slick and ready. “But not as much as I’ve missed you.”

I press two fingers inside her, slow and deep, curling just right. She arches against me, her breath catching sharp, her body already begging.

I keep my mouth at her throat, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re going to come for me,” I murmur, voice filthy and soft. “Here. On my fingers first.”

She’s already halfway there, her breath fracturing against my skin, her hips rolling into my hand like she can’t help herself.

And gods, I love her like this—reckless, needy, all hers.

I drag my thumb over her clit, slow and merciless, my breath hot against her ear. “And then I’m going to fuck you right here against this tree,” I murmur. “Hard enough you’ll forget every single thing except how good I make you feel.”

Her head falls back against the bark, her body tightening around my fingers.

And when she comes, sharp and wild and wrecked against my hand, I smile against her throat.

I drag my fingers through her wetness deliberately, slow and obscene, holding her gaze as I lift them to my mouth and suck them clean—slow, filthy, deliberate. She watches me do it, her breath catching, her eyes pinned to my mouth like she’s the one starving now.

And then I move.

I turn her effortlessly, one hand braced at the small of her back, bending her over the rough bark, my palm splaying over the back of her neck like I’ve wanted to do since the second I first saw her in this morning.

She lets me.

No—she arches into me, hips tilting back, her body already strung tight and ready for more.

“Good girl,” I murmur, voice like sin against her skin. “You know I’m not going to stop until you can’t fucking stand.”

Her laugh is ragged, sharp and breathless. “That’s the idea.”

I drag her pants down in one fluid motion, baring her to the cool night air, to me. Her legs part easily, inviting, shameless. She wants this. She wants me to ruin her.

And I will.

I free myself, fist tight around my cock, already hard and aching. I press the head against her slick, swollen entrance, sliding it deliberately through her, teasing her until she whines low in her throat, grinding back against me.

"You're desperate," I murmur, my mouth ghosting over the back of her neck. "I love you like this."

Then I thrust in—hard, deep, relentless.

She gasps, her body arching beneath me, her hands scrabbling against the bark as I drive into her again, again, until she’s gasping for breath and pushing back against every brutal snap of my hips.

But I don’t stop there. Because I’m not just a man. I’m Lust. And tonight, I let it bleed out of me like poison.

I flood the bond between us, that thread of magic that ties me to her, letting her feel not just the weight of me, not just the stretch and burn of my cock inside her—but the hunger underneath. The maddening, endless desire that coils under my skin, that seeps into her bones and makes her body light up under my hands.

She feels all of it.

Every filthy, desperate, wrecked thought I’ve had about her since the day I met her. Every time I wanted to drag her behind a door and make her scream. Every time I wanted to pull her into my bed and not let her leave.

Her moan rips out of her throat, sharp and wrecked, her hips slamming back into mine like she can’t get close enough.

“You feel it, don’t you?” I growl, voice rough against her ear, one hand sliding around to her front, finding her clit again, slick and swollen. “How much I want you.”

She tries to answer, but the words fall apart when I circle her clit, slow and relentless, even as I drive into her harder, deeper.

And then she shatters again.

It rips through her like a wave, her body clenching around me so hard it steals my breath, her legs shaking beneath her. I keep fucking her through it, keep my magic threaded tight in her veins, pulling her higher and higher until she’s gasping, writhing beneath me.

Until she’s begging.

“Again,” I murmur darkly, voice pitched low against her ear. “I want to feel you come again.”

And she does. Her orgasm slams through her almost violently, her cries muffled against her arm, her body shaking beneath me. I drag her up against me, one hand fisting in her hair, the other sliding between her legs again, stroking her mercilessly even as she collapses against me.

“More,” I growl against her throat. “You can take more.”

And she does. She grinds back against me, her body pliant and eager, her thighs slick with everything I’ve done to her. I thrust into her harder now, deeper, angling just right until she’s whimpering, shaking, her orgasm building again, sharp and brutal.

I come with her this time, the sound she makes when she falls apart dragging me over the edge, spilling into her with a growl against her shoulder.

My magic curls tight beneath her skin, relentless, intoxicating, drawing every last gasp, every desperate sound from her lips. Her body doesn’t stop writhing against me, her muscles fluttering around my cock, her breath catching every time I push her higher.

She comes again.

And again.

Until she’s wrecked and soft in my arms, her legs shaking, her head falling back against my shoulder, sweat slicking her skin.

I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her upright, my mouth brushing against the shell of her ear.

“There you are,” I murmur, soft now, wicked. “That’s my girl.”

I keep her pinned there, my mouth against her temple, both of us breathing hard, wrecked and wild.

“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice low, wrecked, reverent. “Fucking perfect when you let go.”

Her fingers curl in the front of my shirt, dragging me back down for another kiss, this one softer but no less desperate.

“I missed you like this.”

I smile, slow and sharp, brushing my lips against hers one more time.

“I’ve been right here,” I murmur, voice curling low. “Waiting for you to come back to me.”

When I finally pull back, I don’t let her move far.

I press my mouth to the curve of her shoulder again, softer this time, my voice rough when I murmur, “You needed that.”

She laughs quietly, breathless and ruined, her head turning toward me enough that I can see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“So did you.”

She’s right.