Page 56 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

The snow falls in violent sheets, the wind screaming through the trees beyond the estate. The storm is a warning, an omen that something terrible is coming. And it’s coming for me.

I should be afraid. I should regret stepping into this world, should long for the simple, normal life I once had. But I don’t. Because despite everything, the war, the blood, the enemies gathering at our doorstep, a part of me feels safe here. Because they need me.

Not just one of them. All seven. Seven supernatural creatures, each powerful enough to tear apart this world, and yet they will fight for me. Kill for me. Die for me. I matter here in a way I never have before.

The blizzard rages on, swallowing the landscape in a sea of white and ice, and I barely hear the door open behind me.

Riven steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp, his hair mussed from running his hands through it.

He looks like something carved from violence and divinity.

A god of war who has already touched me, who has felt my skin beneath his hands, who, against his better judgment, is bound to me now.

And me? Who the fuck am I?

He doesn’t say a word, just moves toward his dresser, all business, all sharp, effortless confidence. Then he drops the towel.

I whip my gaze back to the window so fast my neck nearly snaps.

“You’ve seen it before,” he says, voice bored, like we’re discussing the fucking weather.

Heat crawls up my neck. “That doesn’t mean I want an encore.”

He makes a low sound, a chuckle, dark and knowing. And maybe it’s the bond, maybe it’s the way his presence is already etched inside me, but I don’t have to look at him to see him, to feel the weight of his gaze on me, the way it slides over me like a dare.

I should be focused on the war.

On the storm.

On anything but him.

But I don’t move. Because the truth is, some part of me, the part that’s already his, whether I admit it or not, wants to turn around.

Orin said my purpose was to make them fall in love with me. That’s how the bond strengthens. That’s when they’ll ask for it instead of fighting it.

Riven doesn’t love me. I can’t even picture it.

Him, soft, tender, looking at me like I matter for something other than what I can give him.

What I can do to him. It doesn’t fit. Because this is supposed to be more than just sex, but with him, it doesn’t feel like it.

And even then, even when it’s incredible, when I’m wrecked from it, when his hands are bruising and his mouth is sinful,

It feels off.

Like something in the bond itself is fractured. And I don’t even know how I know that, but I do. It’s like a whisper at the back of my mind, a feeling lodged deep in my chest, something is wrong.

Maybe it’s him.

Maybe it’s me.

I can’t picture myself loving Riven. He’s too sharp, too cruel, too cold. But this is supposed to happen.

So who falls first?

Me?

Or him?

His voice cuts through my thoughts. “It’s time to go.”

I blink, drawn back to the present, to the storm outside and the war creeping closer.

But my thoughts shift, to Silas. Silas, who I owe a serious fucking reckoning for his little stunt.

I should be furious. And I am. But when I think about the things he said, about the way he tripped over himself, the way he melted into a human disaster while I backed him into a corner,

It was…

Sweet.

Cringy.

But sweet.

Silas is the kind of person it would be easy to love. A mess. A wreck. But mine in a way the others aren’t yet. And that should make me more pissed about the spell. But instead, it just makes me wonder. What happens when it’s real? How do I categorize loving seven men ?

How does that even work? How do I hold that much inside me without shattering under the weight of it?

And what if I can’t?

I try to imagine it, try to see the future Orin claims is inevitable, where they all love me, where I somehow love each of them back.

But I can’t. Because how do I love Ambrose, who tried to cash in a favor for sex before I died?

How do I love Caspian, who looks at me like I’m nothing more than a momentary amusement?

How do I love Lucien, who would sooner destroy me than kneel before me?

Some of them have accepted me already, even if they don’t want to. Even if they fight it, even if they deny it, they still let me in.

But all of them? Equally?

I can’t picture it.

I shake the thoughts from my head as I follow Riven out of his room, down the winding halls, the scent of firewood and aged stone filling the air. The house is too quiet, the storm outside swallowing all sound, wrapping the estate in a world of white and waiting.

When we reach the dining room, the others are already there. Orin, Elias, Ambrose, Caspian, and Silas. Who immediately tries to slink out the back like a coward.

I step forward. He freezes.

“Silas,” I say, voice too sweet, too smooth.

He turns slowly, like someone caught in a trap of their own making.

His eyes flick to Riven, to Orin, to literally anyone else in the room before landing back on me. “Luna,” he says, feigning innocence, feigning confidence, but I can see the panic beneath it.

He knows exactly what’s coming. And he deserves it.

I take another step toward him, letting the moment stretch, letting him stew in the silence, in the inevitability of his own doom.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask, voice dripping venom and saccharine death.

He doesn’t run. Which is surprising, considering he looks like he desperately wants to. He shifts on his feet, hands twitching at his sides like he’s contemplating his escape route.

I tilt my head, keeping my too-sweet smile in place. “You didn’t answer my question, Silas.”

His throat bobs. “Uh. My question?”

I arch a brow. He’s floundering already.

Riven exhales sharply behind me, not bothering to hide his amusement. Elias mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like this is gonna be good.

Silas clears his throat. “Right. Right. Um.” He gestures vaguely. “I slept… well?”

It comes out like a question.

I take another step forward. “Did you?”

His eyes dart to the others. “Define well.”

I fold my arms over my chest, tapping my fingers against my bicep. “Did you dream of me?”

Silence. Absolute. Fucking. Silence.

His face explodes into color. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again, a strangled noise escaping his throat.

“Uh…”

I wait.

He drags a hand through his hair. “Define dream.”

“Oh, this is painful,” Ambrose mutters, taking a sip of his coffee .

Silas spins on him, pointing wildly. “Shut the fuck up, Ambrose. This is your fault!”

Ambrose raises a brow. “How?”

Silas gestures violently. “You exist!”

I hum, watching him unravel. “You know, you’re not doing a great job defending yourself, Silas.”

His wild gaze swings back to me. “I didn’t do anything! Technically! It was Elias' idea!”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” Elias says, grinning.

“You are in this,” Silas shoots back, flinging an arm toward him. “You and I are both in this hole together.”

I step closer, lowering my voice. “I don’t know, Silas.” I trail my fingers along the table as I move, watching him track my every motion. Cornering him, like he cornered himself. “Seems like you’re in the hole all by yourself.”

His entire body locks up.

I press my lips together, pretending to consider. “Though, I suppose if I really wanted to get even, I could just…”

He lunges forward so fast I nearly stumble back.

“No.” His eyes are wild, desperate. “You’re not pranking me back.”

I blink at him. “Why not?”

His hands fly into his hair. “Because I barely survived last night, Luna! I almost died! My soul left my body, I saw the gods!”

The laughter dies in an instant. One second, Silas is flailing, Elias is cackling, and I am relishing every moment of his suffering.

Then Lucien steps into the room. And the temperature drops. Not literally, though it might as well have. The blizzard outside has nothing on the storm in his eyes, the way his expression is cut from stone, his gaze sharp enough to wound.

"They're here. "

Two words.

But they land like a death knell.

Silas' face drains of color. Elias straightens. Riven pushes off the wall, shoulders coiling. Ambrose slowly sets his coffee down, his usual smirk gone.

The only sound is the howling wind beyond the windows, rattling the glass, as if the storm itself is whispering: Run.

Lucien’s eyes find mine. And I feel it. Like a noose tightening around my throat. Because we all knew this was coming. The warnings, the signs, the army building at the borders, but now it’s here. Now it’s real.

I rise from my seat, pulse hammering. “How close?”

Lucien doesn’t blink. “At the gates.”

My stomach drops.

“They moved faster than expected,” Orin murmurs, expression grim. “We thought we had more time.”

“We don’t,” Lucien says. “The wards are holding, for now. But they won’t for long.”

Riven rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck like he’s been waiting for this. “Then we fight.”

Of course he says that. Of course Riven fucking Kain is standing there, practically eager to carve his way through an army.

But Lucien doesn’t respond to him. He’s still looking at me. I hate the way it makes my skin prickle. Like I’m the weakest link. The only thing standing in their way. Because I am.

I exhale slowly, clenching my fists. “Tell me what I need to do. ”

Lucien’s gaze doesn’t soften. It doesn’t waver. Because this isn’t a game. This isn’t a joke. And if I fail, I die.

Lucien’s voice is sharp, decisive.

“Luna, you stay with Riven. No matter what.”

I nod. Because what else can I do? Argue? He won’t listen. None of them will. They’ve already made their decision. I am not a player in this war. I am the prize. The thing that must be kept, protected, hidden.

It makes me want to scream.

Lucien moves on without hesitation, directing them like a king sending his knights to war.

“Ambrose, take the northern wall. If the wards break, we’ll need you there first.”

Ambrose hums, rolling his wrist, the faint shimmer of gold flickering at his fingers. “Try not to let them get that far, yeah?”

Lucien ignores him. “Orin, you and Elias are on the south ridge. Keep the barriers steady as long as you can.”

Orin nods. Elias, who never takes anything seriously, actually looks grim. That’s what scares me the most.

“Silas,” Lucien continues, “you’ll be at the east watchtower. Get inside their heads before they make it past the first ward.”

Silas exhales, ruffling his already-messy hair. “You really know how to make a guy feel useful, Luce.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Lucien turns to Caspian last. They hold a look between them, something unspoken, and Caspian’s lip curls.

“I know what to do,” Caspian says, voice syrupy-smooth. “I don’t need your orders.”

Lucien doesn’t argue. Just nods, like he expected the pushback, and finally, finally, his eyes snap back to me .

I brace.

“I’m going to find Severin.”

Silence. Even the storm outside seems to still. It takes a full second for the words to settle. For the reality of what he just said to sink in.

Riven scowls. “The fuck you are.”

Lucien doesn’t waver. “If we can reason with him, ”

“Reason?” Riven laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “With Severin? You’ve lost your damn mind.”

Lucien lifts his chin, unmoving. “If there’s a way to prevent what’s coming,”

“There isn’t.”

“I won’t know that until I try.”

“You mean until you get yourself killed.”

Lucien exhales through his nose, disdain curling his mouth. “If you’re done, Riven, ”

“I’m never done.”

“Good. Then do your job.”

I swallow hard. Because Lucien isn’t waiting for permission. He’s already moving toward the door, already disappearing into the storm. And this is it. The last moment before everything changes.

The storm howls through the academy grounds, the wind screaming against the walls like it’s trying to rip through stone and flesh alike. The guys disperse, vanishing into the blizzard, shadows swallowed by the night.

I stand with Riven in the courtyard, my boots planted in the snow that’s already rising too fast. Every part of me is thrumming, like a wire pulled too tight, stretched thin with the weight of everything that’s about to happen.

Riven is watching me, eyes dark under the slant of his hood. “Pull the sword. ”

I exhale hard, flexing my fingers, feeling the ache in my muscles from the last week of drilling. Every night, every morning, Riven forcing me through the motions, forcing me to use his power, to feel it, to manipulate it. It fights me every time.

Because Wrath isn’t meant to be held. It’s meant to be unleashed. And I am not strong enough yet.

But I try. I press my hand into the frozen earth, fingers digging into the frost-laced ground. Wrath sleeps inside me, a coiled beast in my blood, and I have to wake it. Call it forth. I reach for it the way Riven taught me. Not like coaxing a flame to life, but like demanding a storm to kneel.

The first pull resists.

The second makes my veins burn.

The third, something gives.

The earth splits. A deep, violent crack that sends a tremor through the courtyard, shaking the icicles loose from the eaves. I suck in a breath, my hand heating, fingers curled into a fist as I force the power to take shape.

A hilt erupts from the ground, forged of blackened obsidian, veined with molten gold. The blade itself is unlike any I’ve ever seen, jagged, brutal, a rippling forge of deep-red metal, as if someone had dragged a sword straight through a vein of lava and let it cool in the blood of a god.

I stare.

Riven exhales, stepping closer, his gaze locked on the weapon like it’s something he recognizes.

“Now that is Wrath’s blade.”

I swallow, fingers wrapping around the hilt. The moment I touch it, heat flares through my arm, up my spine, like the blade isn’t metal at all but something alive, breathing .

And it is mine.

Riven smirks. “Think you can swing it?”

I grit my teeth. Lift the sword. The weight of it feels right. Like it was made to fit my hand.

I take one step forward and swing. The air shatters. A fissure of pure, crimson rage erupts from the blade, slicing through the courtyard in a crackling arc, the snow at my feet instantly melting to steam.

Riven laughs. A low, dark sound. “Well, fuck me.”

I grip the sword tighter, my chest heaving, power singing through my bones.

“Again,” he says, grinning.

And this time, I don’t hesitate.