Chancing It
- Reads 54
- Votes 1
- Parts 6
AUTHORS NOTE: THIS STORY WAS ORIGINALLY REOCCURRING FATE! BUT A LOT HAS BEN CHANGED AND REVISED.
Years ago two completely different people meet and fall in love and an ancient evil keeps them apart... sounds like just another typical love story right? WRONG!
Life For Shyelynn has never been what you would call normal. Plagued, since she was young, by dreams of dark alleys and forbidden kisses always just out of her reach. She was never able to comprehend them... until Mika.
Mika never gave any thought to where he was going to spend eternity. Orphaned at a young age and dropped on his aunts door step, he was perfectly fine working for her lawn and design company and honestly he didn't mind the work. He always felt out of place though, hearing voices and seeing shadows that were never there, pleas for help that he couldn't answer. Until Shye danced her way into his life, and soon everything became more real than ever before.
In a search for answers before time runs out and trying to make sense of the intense feeling that occur when ever they are together, the two never expected that in one night centuries ago, a single act of love and honesty would cause their whole world to crumble and revenge sworn. Now Mika and Shyelynn must fight for there lives, and possibly something much more precious. With all odds and something they can't control against them. Will they overcome all? Or are they risking their lives for a true love that just wasn't meant to be?
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.
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