61. Petra
PETRA
“Sold? As in you made a deal with the devil?”
He raises an amused brow. “The devil? No. Let’s not go quite so Biblical. I didn’t make a deal with the devil. I just made a deal.”
“But for what?”
“For the one thing I never had but always wished for. A home.”
The moment he utters that word, I continue to stare at him. My chest aches. I, too, have longed for the same thing.
I might’ve had a roof over my head growing up, but it was never a home. Just a house. I was never truly welcomed, never accepted—only used for what I could provide to my family, for what I could bring to my community. But that was never a home.
And given his far worse experiences—always being abandoned by the people who were supposed to love and protect him—I suppose it makes sense. If I were him, I’d do the same. Without hesitation.
“I’m not a good man, Petra,” he says quietly, a sigh in his voice. “But trust that I would never hurt you.”
“I know you’d never hurt me.”
“But . . . ?” he prompts, looking at me expectantly.
“I don’t think you should sell yourself so short, Sin. You are a good man. The mere reasoning behind your actions proves it. You’re not doing this to destroy; you’re doing this to protect. Even if it’s only me.”
Shock flickers across his face. A flush rises to his cheeks, and he promptly looks away. “I never thought you’d understand me so well,” he murmurs, half to himself.
“Perhaps because you never gave me a chance to.”
He turns his head toward me, swallowing thickly.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he whispers.
“No.” I shake my head. “You know I’m not.”
His eyes are wet, lashes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Of all the things he could have said, he only whispers, “Thank you, Petra. Thank you for accepting me when no one else has.”
His voice cracks on the final syllable, and something inside me shatters.
A fierce protectiveness swells in my chest. I want to wrap him in my arms, shield him from the rejection of the world, keep him safe with me where he is loved and accepted.
I lean in and press a kiss to the tears on his cheek.
I don’t know where this boldness comes from. I just know he needs to feel it—that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
“Ah, Petra, you’re so sweet, my little darling. What would I do without you?”
“Well, you don’t have to wonder about that anymore,” I say softly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes you are,” he murmurs, then trails off. “Every day, I have to wonder if this is a dream. If you’re actually real.”
“I am,” I whisper. “I am, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you, Sin.”
He groans and pulls me tighter against his chest.
“I never thought telling you the truth would feel like this. I never imagined you’d accept it. That you wouldn’t recoil from me. That you wouldn’t revile me for what I’ve done.”
My heart aches for him.
He’s spent so long being demonized by everyone that he still half-expects me to turn against him. I can feel it in the way he touches me, hesitant and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for me to vanish. The way his fingers ghost over my face, as though memorizing the contours before they’re gone.
He gazes at me like I’m something fragile and fading, like I’m just a dream he’s terrified to wake up from.
And as much as I want to kiss him, to surrender completely to the warmth of his arms and lose myself in this moment, there are still truths I need to uncover.
There are still things I need to know.
“What about the mark on my chest?” I ask quietly. “Why was it not there when I would look for it during the day?”
A slow smile tugs at his lips.
“That was just a small illusion I performed. I’ve learned over time that I can channel the energy I use to control the shadows into other things.
But because it’s not the core of my ability, I can only manage it on a small scale—just enough to hide the sigil while you were awake and looking at it.
The moment night fell, and you went to sleep, it would reappear. ”
“That’s impressive,” I murmur. “But why would you hide it from me?”
“You know why,” he says. “Because I didn’t want you to be scared.
” He pauses, then adds more softly, “And because when you started believing that our encounters were just dreams . . . I didn’t want to take that away from you.
Or from myself. You were freer with me that way—in a way I don’t think you would’ve allowed yourself to be if you knew the truth. ”
I swallow. “You’re right. I let myself be free with you. I felt safe.”
He nods. “In those dreams, we were just two people. There was no history, no baggage. Just us.”
“I see,” I say, and I do. If I had known earlier that those weren’t dreams, I might’ve reacted differently. I might’ve tried to stop it. I might’ve feared what it meant—that he could take me from my room without me ever noticing.
But the more I got to know him, the more his presence became the only thing that felt safe.
“You were right to do it,” I tell him after a moment. “If you hadn’t approached it that way, maybe I would still be trapped in my own misconceptions about you.
“But I’m still curious,” I whisper, “about what these symbols mean. Because what happened back then wasn’t normal. My skin healed like nothing ever happened, and I remember you piercing it with a knife.”
“The answer is simple,” he says. “The marks are magical. And this symbol isn’t something caused by my own ability.”
“Then what caused it?”
He gazes at me and places his hand lightly over my chest, above the mark.
“Fate. Because we’re meant to be. This happened because, out of everyone in the universe, you and I are the perfect pair. We were destined for each other from the beginning. Your soul is mine. Mine is yours. We’re tied together.”
He hovers his fingers over the spot. “This isn’t just proof of that. It’s a tether—binding us. When we shared blood, the bond formed. That was the first step.”
“First step?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
“For the bond to become permanent, we would need to consummate it,” he answers gently.
I blink. “Consummate? You mean . . . ?”
“Yes,” he says. “Exactly that.”
“But how do you know this?”
“The entity told me. There are people out there fated to find one another, though not all do so in every lifetime. Sometimes the stars align. Sometimes they don’t. But I recognized you, Petra. As mine. And you recognized me, too—I know you did.
“What did you feel when you first saw me?” he asks.
I think back to that moment in the bookstore—how striking he looked to me. The impossible beauty of him, the deep blue of his eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. I hadn’t been able to think of anything else afterward. It was unlike anything I’d ever known.
“I see you know what I mean,” he murmurs, satisfied.
“What happens after we consummate the bond?” I ask quietly.
“Then we will truly be one. We’ll share life and death—in this world and the next. Nothing will ever be able to separate us again. I will find you. Always. No matter what.”
I nod. Slowly. Steadily.
The prospect of belonging to this man for all eternity makes me warm and tingly. I want that. Perhaps I’ve wanted it from the first time I saw him. But I know I would have never dared to admit it to myself back then.
Even now, I find myself hesitating. Years of conditioning, of keeping quiet and suppressing my emotions, have taken a toll on me. Yet it’s because of him that I’ve started to open up, to go against my fear of being judged and punished for my thoughts.
He became my safe haven the moment he allowed me to be curious, to dare to know.
Perhaps I should be scared of being bound to someone until the end of time. Because he’s not talking about just this lifetime. He’s talking of forever.
That is quite the commitment, isn’t it?
The logical part of me tells me to take my time, consider things carefully.
But the other part of me? The one that’s finally at peace in his presence, the one that yearns for him more than oxygen, that part of me tells me to take the leap. And I choose to listen to it.
“Can we . . .” I wet my lips. “Can we do it?”
His brows go up in surprise. “You want to . . .”
“Consummate the bond,” I say with a decisive nod.
“Are you sure? Because once we take that step, there is no going back.”
“I know. And I’m ready. As long as it’s you, I want everything,” I tell him sincerely.
Perhaps I should be more scared of what this means, especially considering the unusual circumstances of our meeting and the rather questionable rumors swirling around him. But it feels right.
He is right for me. And I want to own him as much as I want to be owned by him. Forever.
He stares at me intently, his eyes darkening with lust. Slowly, his gaze shifts downward to the curve of my neck and the swell of my breasts.
“If you’re sure . . .” He swallows hard.
I nod fervently.
“Take off your clothes,” he commands.
I blink, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Where before he’d been shy and reserved, now he is confident and domineering—and somehow, that only makes the heat within me burn fiercer.
“Take off your clothes, Petra, because if I do it, I can’t promise I won’t rip them off.”
My cheeks redden, and I slowly unbutton my bolero and lay it aside. Next is my dress. I struggle with the buttons at the back until I finally slip out of the gown. It pools at my feet, but there’s still more.
He watches me closely, barely blinking, taking in every movement. When I reach behind to undo my corset, he lets out a low growl in his throat.
Warmth floods me under his gaze. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. I wonder if my form is as pleasing to him as his is to me. I pull down the corset, along with my undergarments, until I am fully bare before him.
I have to fight the urge to cover myself. The last time we’d been in a similar situation, I thought it was all a dream. Perhaps that’s why I’d been so free then. But now—though I was the one who initiated this—I feel suddenly shy. Not unsure, exactly. Just exposed.
A harsh sound escapes him, and I notice his hands have tightened into fists.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “So goddamn beautiful.”
I flush even deeper. “I’m glad you think so,” I murmur softly.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says as I instinctively place a hand over my private parts. “I want to see you, Petra. I want to see everything.”
Slowly, I move my hand aside and stand tall before him.
“Let me see. Let me see what’s mine,” he croons.
That one word—mine—sends shivers down my spine. Because that’s all I want to be. His. Only his.
“Your turn,” I tell him in a low voice.
He raises a brow.
“Your clothes,” I add, “take them off.” I muster the courage to command him back.
He smirks and stands up. Slowly, he removes one garment at a time—first his necktie, then his vest. He unbuttons his shirt and throws it onto the sofa, leaving his chest bare.
I drink in the sight of him, golden and muscular, brimming with vitality. The dark sigil on his chest is a stark contrast to the rest of his body, marking him as mine.
Next are his trousers. He undoes them and pulls them down. Now, he’s just as naked as I am. Though I’ve seen him like this before, it feels as if this is the first time I truly see him.
My gaze drops to his abdomen, then lower, until it lands on his erection hardening right before my eyes.
I swallow hard. “I don’t remember that being so . . . large?” I mutter before I can stop myself.
He laughs, amused. “Yes, well, it seems I made a deal with the devil to give me a very large cock.”
I can’t help myself; I burst out laughing, remembering my foolish comment from earlier. The shared laughter eases my nerves and settles my fears.
But then his expression suddenly changes. The good humor from before is replaced with a ravenous look that makes the hair on my body stand up. I wet my lips, waiting for him to fill in the silence.
His body is tense, his jaw locked tight as he stares at me.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle, Petra,” he admits in a ragged tone. “I want you so much. I’ve wanted you for far too long.”
I swallow hard. “If that is what you want to offer me, then I don’t want gentle.
I want you, Sin. And I want you to show me your truest self.
I don’t want you to hold back because you think you’ll hurt me.
You’ll hurt me more by doing so. So please, show me.
Show me everything you want to do to me. ”
My admission seems to surprise him. At the same time, he looks like he’s battling himself, a storm of emotions crossing his features. He doesn’t know what to do.
He’s still holding back, and I hate that. I hate to see him limit himself just because he’s afraid of shocking me—perhaps even of scaring me.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask him.
I’m still rather embarrassed by my naked state, but the more I look into his eyes, the more I lose myself in those stormy blue irises that promise to love and worship me in equal measure, the less I care.
His lips tighten into a line.
“Tell me,” I repeat when he makes no move.
He’s standing there, gloriously naked, his body rippling with every breath. Broad shoulders. Muscles carved like stone. A chest and abdomen so well-defined, it’s like looking at a sculpture brought to life.
And then there’s that part of him I’m still hesitant to linger on with my gaze.
By now, he’s fully hard, his shaft angled toward his stomach, ready.
He pins me in place with his gaze.
“Run,” he says finally. “I want you to run.”