Page 8 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

Her hands curl into fists, nails digging into her palms, her entire body vibrating with frustration. She wants to lash out, but she doesn’t even know where to direct it, at me, at herself, at the undeniable pull between us.

“Fuck you,” she bites out.

My smile sharpens. “You will. Eventually.”

Her face flares with heat, but I don’t give her time to argue, don’t give her time to cling to whatever self-control she’s desperately trying to scrape together. Instead, I push my chair back, slow and deliberate, then rise to my feet, stepping around the table to close the space between us.

I rest a hand on the back of her chair, my breath skimming just over the shell of her ear.

“I could make you crave me, Luna. Make you beg for something you don’t even understand yet.

You would say my name like a prayer and then curse me for making you want me.

But the best part? You’d still want me.”

Her entire body locks up, but I catch the way her breath hitches, the way her thighs press together like she’s trying to erase what I’ve already done to her.

I chuckle, low and dark, the sound vibrating through her like a promise.

Then I pull back, stepping away, giving her space she won’t even know what to do with .

I tilt my head, watching, waiting.

Then, finally, she lifts her chin, swallows hard, and speaks.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

I grin because she says it like it’s a choice.

It’s not. I’ve felt this reaction before.

I’ve seen it in others, the way desire builds like an unstoppable force, the way it consumes them until they’re nothing but raw need.

The difference is, they all wanted it. They gave in willingly, let it take over, let me take over.

But Luna? She’s fighting it. She’s clinging to whatever self-control she thinks she has left, even though we both know she’s already losing.

"You wanted to know how to use it,” I murmur, letting my voice drop lower, silk-wrapped sin meant to unravel. “I’ll teach you.”

Luna’s fingers tighten on the arms of the chair, knuckles going white, but she finally looks up. “Teach me what?”

I drag my gaze over her face, taking my time. "How to command us. How to make us bend." I tilt my head, letting my mouth curve into something just shy of a smirk. "Or better yet, how to make us crawl."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and there it is again, that quick pulse in her throat, that flicker of something deep in her eyes that she doesn’t understand yet.

“I can’t do that,” she says, and I can tell she wants to believe it. “I have no power.”

“You do,” I counter, watching her reaction carefully. “It’s already inside you. You just don’t know how to wield it yet. ”

She swallows, and I watch the movement of her throat, the way her body betrays her even as she shakes her head. “How?”

There’s something hesitant in the way she asks, like she’s already regretting the question. But she asked. And now she has to live with the answer.

“It’s in your voice,” I explain, my tone slow, patient, like I’m speaking to someone who needs to be led to the truth rather than given it outright.

“Your bloodline carries it, the ability to command, to strip us of our will, to force us to obey.” I pause, letting the weight of that settle between us before adding, “Even now, you could make me kneel.”

I see the disbelief flash across her face. She doesn’t believe she holds that kind of power over me, and that’s fair; she hasn’t seen it yet. But she will.

I lean in, closing the space between us, my presence deliberate, suffocating. “It’s not about telling us what to do. It’s about making us.”

She holds herself perfectly still, but I see the shift in her posture, the subtle way her legs press together beneath the table, the faint shudder that ripples through her.

I wait, giving her a chance to test it, to say something, to try and pull on that invisible thread that ties us together. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she clenches her jaw and shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”

A slow, dark chuckle escapes me, the sound rich with amusement. “Then let’s make it a lesson, shall we?”

I straighten to my full height, my gaze never leaving hers, and let my power slip into the space between us, not in a suffocating way, not enough to overwhelm, but just enough to remind her of what I can do .

“Tell me to leave,” I say softly, my voice like smoke, curling around her, pulling her deeper.

Luna stiffens. “What?”

I keep my expression neutral, calculated. “Tell me to leave.”

She exhales, and I watch her force herself to steady.

"Leave," she says, her voice firm.

I don’t move.

She wasn’t strong enough.

Her brows furrow, frustration flickering in her expression.

"Again," I prompt, amused.

Her hands press flat against the table now, her body leaning forward slightly, determination setting in.

"Leave," she demands, voice sharper this time, more forceful.

And this time, I feel the pull. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. It slides over my skin, a whisper of something demanding, something unseen, something woven into her very existence.

I step back. Not because I want to. Not because she made me. But because she almost did. And fuck, isn’t that interesting?

Luna blinks, as if realizing what just happened, as if putting together the pieces of something she hadn’t even known she was trying to do.

I grin, slow and sharp. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”

She doesn’t answer, but I don’t need her to. Because she just learned something very, very important. She’s not powerless. She never was.

And if she learns to control this? We’re all fucked .