All Chapters of Darkbound Mate: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The soft glow of the moon washes over us, casting silvery reflections across the gentle ripples of the river. The rhythmic sound of water lapping at the shore blends with the faint rustling of leaves in the cool evening breeze. The air smells faintly of damp earth, salt, and the lingering aroma of the food we’ve been picking at for the past hour.Kassian sits across from me on the thick blanket he’s spread out, leaning back on his hands with a relaxed posture that doesn’t quite match the tension in his shoulders. His voice is low and smooth, but there’s an edge of frustration in it as he recounts his day.“So, I had to go to this company to get some contracts signed,” he says, his tone sharp, “and the wife of the guy I was supposed to meet wouldn’t stop trying to… ugh, I don’t know—seduce me or something. She was ridiculous. Kept batting her eyelashes like she thought that’d do something.”I glance at him from where I’m sitting, cross-legged with my plate in my lap. My fingers idly to

I force my trembling legs to push me upright, the unsteady motion making my body wobble like a fawn taking its first steps. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me, still weak and shaking from whatever just happened. My breaths come shallow and uneven, the burning sensation in my chest making it hard to think straight.The night air presses against my flushed skin, sharp and biting, a cruel contrast to the overwhelming heat that refuses to leave me. The faint scent of damp earth and saltwater lingers, mingling with the metallic tang of rage rising in my throat.I stagger backward, almost stumbling, but manage to catch myself. My body feels wrong—lightheaded, unmoored, like all the strength has been sapped from my limbs. Whatever Kassian just did to me, it’s toxic. Too overwhelming. Too consuming. And he’d barely started.A violent shudder rolls through me, and tears prick my eyes. They burn, hot and unrelenting, pooling against my lashes but refusing to fall. Rage shakes me to my core,

“I started painting when I was four,” I say softly, my voice barely rising above the whisper of the wind rustling through the trees around us. The air is cool and carries the faint tang of salt and damp earth, mingling with the lingering scent of the sea.Kassian’s strides are steady as he carries me away from the shoreline, the soft crunch of sand beneath his boots marking each deliberate step. The rhythmic sound mingles with the distant murmur of waves, now quieter, as if retreating into the background.“According to my brother,” I continue, glancing up at him, “I was obsessed with colors. It was the only way they could ever get me to shut up. By the time I turned four, I started painting. Despite everything they did to stop me, I kept going. I just… loved the way colors come together, like there’s some kind of mystery behind it…” My voice trails off as I lose myself in the memory.The faint light from the car’s interior spills into the darkness as we approach, illuminating the surr

Quincy and I are in the kitchen, the soft hum of the stovetop blending with the rhythmic clatter of utensils. The air is heavy with the rich aromas of dinner—the smoky scent of sizzling vegetables, the sweet warmth of baking brownies, and the faint tang of something spicy simmering on the stove. It feels strangely comforting, like stepping back into a part of my life I’d almost forgotten.We’re catching up, sharing snippets of the years I’ve missed. Or rather, Quincy is doing most of the talking. She rattles on like a runaway train, her words tumbling over each other as though she’s afraid the silence might swallow her whole. I’m content to let her fill the space, listening as I carefully slice the brownies into neat squares, their edges still warm and slightly gooey under the blade.Quincy’s voice rises, animated and bright, as she recounts the girls’ antics—how much they’ve grown, their mischief, their quirks. It’s a warm, nostalgic flow of chatter that makes the kitchen feel cozier

I rack my brain, my thoughts churning like a storm-tossed sea, trying to figure out what to do about this. The Tyson I know might not be who he is now, but why does it feel like all of this is some cruel trick? My chest tightens with the weight of it, a suffocating pressure that makes it hard to breathe. It’s not just because I’ve known him the longest—though that thought nags at me like a splinter in my mind. No, it’s something deeper. A conviction that Tyson would never betray Quincy.The room around me feels cold and lifeless. The faint hum of the refrigerator buzzes in the background, the air tinged with the aroma of food. The gray light from the overcast sky filters through the window, casting everything in muted tones, as if the world itself mirrors the heaviness in my heart.I’ve always admired their relationship. The kind of bond they share seemed impossible to me, a skeptic who scoffs at the idea of true love. But with them… I don’t know. Something about Tyson and Quincy made