All Chapters of Darkbound Mate: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Vampires are real. Vampires are real. Vampires are fucking real.The words hammer inside my skull, looping over and over, but they do nothing to ground me. Time distorts, stretching impossibly thin, every second dragging as if the universe itself is holding its breath.The bloodthirsty monster lunges, his face twisting into something even more grotesque midair. His already inhuman features warp—cheeks hollowing further, his mouth widening far too much, revealing rows of jagged, gleaming fangs dripping with saliva. His eyes gleam with manic hunger, locking onto me like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.My breath catches. A sharp, involuntary inhale.Every instinct in me screams to move, but I can’t. My body feels disconnected, as if my mind is still trying to catch up with the sheer impossibility of what I’m seeing.If I were the type to faint, this would be the moment. The fear—the shock—is suffocating, pressing down on me so hard my limbs feel like dead weight. But I do

Kassian’s POVI sit where I’ve been since I brought Lynette here, unmoving, my elbows resting on my knees, my face buried in my hands. The cool evening air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it. The dim glow of the hospital’s exterior lights barely reach where I sit on the staircase, shrouded in the quiet hum of distant voices and the occasional passing people. The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood.Fenrir and I are already mourning.Already grieving what hasn’t even happened yet. Because the moment she wakes up, she’ll say the words. The words that will sever our bond, that will strip away the one thing I have ever truly needed. She will reject me. And there won’t be a damn thing I can do about it.She’s clever enough to understand what this is, what I am. She knows the power she holds. And she has every right to wield it because what kind of life can I even offer her? A monster like me?To the pack, Rowan had been trying to claim L

Shadows coil like serpents along the towering pillars of the throne room, stretching beneath the flickering torches that cast a wavering, amber glow upon the ancient stone. The walls, adorned with intricate carvings of battles long forgotten, bear the weight of time, their once-pristine engravings softened by age yet no less commanding. Gilded candelabras stand like sentinels, their waxen tears hardened from centuries of silent vigil. The air is thick with the heady scent of burning resin, mingling with something darker—sandalwood and myrrh. A damp chill lingers in the corners, not of decay, but of something veiled, something watching, waiting in the hush of the grand and haunted chamber.A man kneels before the black throne, his chest heaving, sweat gleaming on his pallid forehead despite the cold. “My Lord,” he gasps, his voice wheezy from the exertion of running. He bows so low his forehead nearly touches the slick obsidian floor, heart hammering against his ribs.The throne looms

Lynette’s POVHave you ever confused someone before? You should try it—it’s fun. Right now, I’m confusing Kassian, though not intentionally. Or maybe just a little. After sharing an intimate kiss with him—one I initiated, just to confirm that this isn’t some elaborate dream—I turned around and insisted that he become my chef again. No one else. Just him.Maybe that was cruel. Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t even know anymore.The past few days in the hospital have been a blur, a mix of waking and sleeping, my thoughts tangled in an endless loop of questions. I refused to see anyone, using the solitude to clear my head. The only face I allowed near me was his. Kassian. The man I fell in love with long before I knew what he really was. And now? Now I know he’s a werewolf, but that doesn’t change who he is. It doesn’t change how I feel about him. If anything, it intensifies it.And honestly, what kind of fool would I be to throw away my soulmate—someone destined for me, someone whose very exist

Kassian’s POVI stare at my father as he screams, his voice raw with fury, his face contorted with grief and something far uglier—hate. His words are sharp, slicing through the air, branding themselves onto my skin like heated iron.“Murderer!”His voice is hoarse from days of this, but still, he yells, hurling every cruel insult he can muster, spitting venom with every breath. He calls me worthless, pathetic, a traitor. Says I am no better than my mother.Honestly, if lung capacity were a contest, he’d be the reigning champion. He could probably be thrown into the ocean and survive an hour underwater with how long he holds his breath between shouts. And yet, he’s wasting all of it on me, screaming about things that cannot be changed.Since the moment Fenrir revealed the truth—blew apart the carefully constructed lie—I’ve had to endure this. My father’s rage, his grief, his relentless accusations. It was rare for Fenrir to lose control to his instincts, but he did, at the worst possibl