All Chapters of Darkbound Mate: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The room is dimly lit, the flickering glow of the TV casting shifting shadows on the walls. The muted colors of the movie ripple across our faces, a soft kaleidoscope of blues and golds. To her, the silence between us might feel comfortable, serene even. But for me, it’s a battlefield—a relentless war of self-control. Somehow, she’s managed to close the gap between us entirely, leaving no space for me to breathe or think clearly.Her heat seeps into my skin where her side presses against mine, her head nestled on my chest as if it belongs there. Her fingers trail absentmindedly along the edge of my turtleneck, her touch featherlight but devastating. Each time her fingernails graze the bare skin of my neck, a jolt shoots through me, tightening the knot of tension in my stomach. It feels as though she’s testing me, testing the strength of my restraint—or perhaps figuring out just how hard she’d need to swing her ax to cut through my defenses entirely.My muscles tense under her touch, ev

The hum of the jet’s engines is a low, constant vibration beneath my feet, filling the cabin with a muted white noise that does little to calm the storm in my head. Outside the window, the world is a blur of dark skies and faint stars. My chin rests heavily on my palm, my eyes unfocused as I stare into nothing. The faint scent of leather from the seats mixes with the sterile air of the plane, but it feels distant, like everything else around me.I tell myself I took this business trip because it was important. Necessary. But that’s a lie. The truth is, I needed to run. I needed to get away. And while what happened with Lynette isn’t the only reason, it’s the one weighing most heavily on my mind.She knows I’m Kassian.The thought sits in my chest like a stone, heavy and suffocating. It’s almost laughable—something I didn’t realize until hours after fleeing her house. It wasn’t until I replayed the scene in my head for the hundredth time, each detail etched into my mind like a scar, tha

I arch a brow, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free. “I am. Is that a problem?”She blinks at me, her skepticism clear. “I’m talking about you, in the kitchen, making dinner. Not ordering takeout. You can cook?”I hesitate, the question hitting a nerve I hadn’t expected. My mouth opens, then closes as I debate how to answer. The memory of her asking me—just the other night—what I loved doing in my spare time flits through my mind. I couldn’t answer then, too ashamed to admit the truth. But now, with her standing so close, looking at me with curiosity that borders on wonder, I feel my defenses crumbling.Cooking. It’s not a big deal to most people, but for me, it’s everything. My childhood dream was to be a chef, to lose myself in the art of creating something beautiful, something that brought joy. Even when my life spiraled into violence and chaos, I clung to that dream, nurturing it in the quiet moments when the world wasn’t looking. But admitting it to her feels lik

Her question punches through the warm stillness of the car, and I freeze, my body stiffening as the air grows unbearably heavy. My thoughts scatter, frantic and uncontrolled, as her words echo in my mind: Who’s responsible for Rowan’s death?The question is a blade, sharp and merciless, cutting through the fragile balance I’ve been clinging to since this all started. My fingers twitch, gripping my knees as if anchoring myself to the seat will somehow stop the panic clawing its way up my chest. For a moment, I can’t breathe, my lungs refusing to cooperate, and the soft hum of the engine feels deafening.I glance at her, but her eyes are fixed on the road ahead, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. The sunlight streams through the windshield, lighting up her features—the sharp line of her jaw, the way her frosty blonde hair shimmers like spun gold. Even now, with tension pulling her shoulders tight, her beauty is disarming, otherworldly. But her ocean-green eyes, anxious and g

My throat tightens painfully, guilt crashing over me like a wave. I want to say more, to fix the crack in her voice, but the words stick, heavy and immovable. I glance at her hands again, noticing how her fingers clutch the wheel just a little too tightly, her knuckles pale against the black leather.“Lynette,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Park the car first.”She doesn’t argue, doesn’t say a word. The car glides into a space near the house, the engine quieting to a low rumble before she switches it off. For a moment, neither of us moves. The air feels thick, heavy with unsaid words and emotions.Her hands fall from the wheel to her lap, and she turns her head slightly—not toward me, but toward the window. Her body is tense, her posture rigid, and the scent of her sadness—of her fear—grows stronger, filling the small space between us.My chest aches as I watch her, the sunlight catching the faint sheen of unshed tears in her ocean-green eyes. She doesn’t look at me,