Page 92 of The Blood that Binds Us

I scoot towards him and wrap my arms around his stomach again. “I know.”

Gently, but with enough force to pull my hands away, he turns sideways and steps out of the bath. He doesn’t bother drying himself with the linen before he’s pulling his trousers back on and reaching for his white shirt.

I lean my elbows onto the side of the stone and watch him dress, confused by his words but giving him room to make sense of his own thoughts.

“You have to live your life hiding who you are every day becausemykingdomfears what you are. If someone had dropped you on our doorstep a few months ago, boasting about how they trapped a bloodwitch, I would have taken the final breath from your lungs and not paid you a second thought. And that…” he pops his shirt out, then begins fastening the buttons. “For that, I hate myself.”

“But you didn’t. You had the chance to kill me and you didn’t,” I say softly, now really hating the sudden switch in his tone.

“So that I could use you! I forced you at my side with threats of what I would do should you not serve me. What you may feel for me now does not change what I did to you. And it never should.”

I motion towards the stack of linens behind him, and he tosses me a length. Wrapping it under my arms and around myself, I step out of the bath, my wet hair plastered to the sides of my face. “Why—why are you saying this now?”

When he turns to face me, I almost don’t recognize him. The heat in Sin’s eyes is gone, in its place a stark coolness that encases my heart in ice, swells my lungs with air cold enough to chill them in place, never to expand with breath again.

Sin takes a step towards me, which is also a step closer to the door. “Because everything about you lures me in, Wren. When I’m around you, it feels like I’mstarving.Like if I don’t consume you ineverypossible way, I’ll be torn apart, never to be whole again. I will not—I cannot—allow myself to do that to you anymore. Which is why you need to leave,” he adds darkly. His voice is low, cold, penetrating my chest, shattering my soul.

Which is why you need to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, crossing my arms and hating the fragility in my tone. “Not without my sister. You said we’d come up with a plan, you… you promised we’d—"

“I can’t help you find her,” he interrupts me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“We made a deal, Singard, you don’t just get to walk away from that. I will not allow you to walk away frommelike that.”

He looks at my feet but remains quiet, his silence only fueling my rage now simmering to a lethal heat.

“Why are you acting like this? One minute you’re holding me captive, the next you’re fucking me on your precious throne! You took what you wanted from me so I’m no longer worthy of your time, is that it?”

My nails dig into my palms at my sides, every hair on my body primed as if I’m about to sprint into combat. Because in a way, I am. He does not get to hurt me like this.

Sin bores his eyes into mine. “You know that’s not true.”

“Then what is true? Tell me! I fought in your godsdamned war. I brought your enemies to your feet, and I slaughtered them before you. One by one, I ripped their souls from their flesh in your name, a line I vowed to never cross. So, tell me,Your Grace, why the fuck you think you get to walk away from me now?” I demand, not a trace of fragility left in my tone.

“Because if you knew who I really was, Wren, what I’m truly capable of, you wouldn’t want me anywhere near your sister.”

I throw my arms up and charge towards him. “That’s bullshit! I deserve the truth—you owe that to me! I don’t believe you.”

He halts me in my tracks by grabbing my chin and tilting my head back to look at him. “You should. And soon, you will.”

My body stills under his touch, and he lightly presses his lips to mine and whispers against them, “Just know how sorry I am when you do.”

Sin drops my chin and storms out, leaving me naked and shivering with only my wrath to warm me.

Ishould have left hours ago. Thrown my few belongings into a bag, taken a horse, and rode through the night. As if I would be able to pull a few hours of rest before morning with the Black Art’s words lingering in my mind, hanging on my heart.

I wrestled with my feelings for Sin—hated myself for growing attached to a man capable of such heinous acts. But never did I mistake him for something he wasn’t. The warmth of Sin’s touch did not blind me to the coldness of his heart. And I wanted every piece of his frigid black soul anyway, smugness and swords and all.

What a stupid girl.

I was naïve to think Sin wouldn’t hurt me the second he had the opportunity. He evenwarnedme—told me not to trust him. And foolishly, I ignored his cautions, lit my heart on fire and chucked it at him to do with as he pleased.

He is no better than Cathal.

At least Cathal didn’t pretend there was anything between us after he learned what I was. He didn’t take me to bed, whisper sweet affirmations in my ear, crush my heart with his godsdamned bloody fists.

The Black Art’s wickedness runs deeper than Cathal’s prejudices.

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