Fated To Die: YA dark retelling (The Retelling Series Book 1)

by TARA GALLINA

  “The poison was dark magic. When it was destroyed, I healed. I assume the poison in you left the same way, but your wound was deep and needed additional care.”

  I press on my toes and kiss his lips. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “I like to think we saved each other.”

  More warmth blooms in my chest, easing my worries and making me curious. “How did you explain everything to my father? You showing up with me unconscious couldn’t have gone over well.”

  “It didn’t,” he says with a smile. “He was furious with me, but as I explained and healed you, he came around. It helped that you kept calling my name in your sleep, and when I sat next to you on the bed, you reached for me.”

  “I did?”

  “It was the only time you were at peace. When I moved away, you would grow restless, so your father let me stay with you at night, as long as I didn’t try anything until we are officially wed, which I assured him I wouldn’t do anyway.”

  “No?” I lean into his side and cast him a flirty gaze. “I remember you being eager to try.”

  His cheeks turn pink. “That was different. Life and death. And you are most beautiful and desirable. I acted the same as any male would.” He shrugs. “I am only human.”

  I slide my hands around his neck. “Yes, you are, and I am so thankful for it.”

  He kisses my nose.

  “We have so much to plan. The wedding. Our future. Your future. The future of the village,” I ramble.

  Daceian chuckles.

  “What?”

  “I can feel your heart pounding through your chest. Preya, what must I do to assure you that you have nothing to do but relax?”

  “I don’t know.” I muse. “I don’t know that I ever learned to relax. How is it that you are so calm?”

  He glances at the open door. “Your father is a very determined man who is well versed in the history of Isca.”

  My brows go up. “Did he show you his den?” Shelves filled with historical books about the village and monarchy cover one of the walls. Every year for his birthday, Mother would gift him a new book to add to his collection.

  Daceian stands taller, causing my arms to stretch. “He showed me more than that. My family has castles and countryside manors from the north to the south. Each house is worth a small fortune, awaiting an heir to claim them. With my resemblance to my mother, I should have no problem proving that fact.”

  I slide from his embrace and lower my gaze to the floor. “I’ve never envisioned a future like that for myself.” I gesture to the room. “This is more than enough for me.”

  A knowing grin curls his lips. “I’m giving it to the people. I’ve no need for grandeur, either.”

  “But you’re a king.”

  “I’m a prince who has yet to claim any throne. I have but one goal in life—to serve you, your family, and whatever family we have of our own.”

  A family of our own. The thought fills me with fear and hope. Will I be a good mother? A good wife? There are so many wonderful gifts at my fingertips. I want to be deserving of them all.

  Daceian watches me like he knows the turmoil in my head. He locks his hands behind my back. “Here’s an idea. How about we take things one day at a time, one moment if necessary, and see where life takes us?”

  I draw in a breath of relief and close the small gap between us. “That sounds like a brilliant plan.”

  Pride fills his eyes. He dips his head low enough to kiss me. “I, for one, am looking forward to many games of hide-and-seek in the maze with your sisters.”

  I gape. “They told you about that?” I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “They told me lots of things, how Daisy likes to be fed her carrots, how the garden with the fountain and gate was their mother’s favorite and is your favorite, too.”

  I’d never thought about it like that. It makes sense the girls would see it that way, and I supposed it’s true.

  “What else did they say?” I whisper against his lips.

  The tip of his nose brushes mine. “They want to have a baby sister, although I think they mean baby niece.”

  I giggle. “And?”

  “They want to carry the rings in our wedding and drop flower petals along the way.”

  “Sounds lovely, and just like them.”

  “Your father wants the wedding to be in the gardens.” His lips sweep over mine.

  I shiver and release an uneven breath. “And what do you want?”

  “Sweet Preya. My love. By giving me your heart, you have made my every wish come true.”

  When Daceian’s lips meet mine, any fear I have washes away, replaced with the promise of tomorrow and a love that will last long after I’m gone. It will be reborn every time the tale of the curse is told about a dark prince and unlikely maiden who fell in love and saved the village.

  The end

  ~Keep reading for a sneak peek of my new adult serial romance, Risking Forever: Vol 1, and The Forever Series Four Book Collection. Free with Kindle Unlimited.

  https://www.amazon.com/RISKING-FOREVER-Forever-college-romance-ebook/dp/B07NQ99MGF

  or

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07T3FDKRJ/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i2

  ~Enjoy the PERMA-FREE companion novel, Sebastian – Risking Forever: Vol 1, written from the hero’s point of view. Available at my website:

  https://www.taragallina.com/

  Or here:

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PRZGVX8/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i5

  **WARNING: The Forever Series is a college romance that contains adult language and content.

  Risking Forever: Vol 1

  At twenty, Ainsley knows it’s time to follow her own dreams and not the future her mother planned for her—a future she never wanted. Losing her job couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  Sebastian Gianni isn’t the ideal boss, but he has a position to fill and Ainsley is desperate. The sexy twenty-two-year-old comes from money, owns a successful business, and graduates from college in three months. He has his life together in a way Ainsley could only dream.

  No wonder her best friend is obsessed with dating him. Even his ex-girlfriend is determined to get him back, although threatening him seems like the wrong approach. Ainsley would be a fool to fall for the guy, too.

  By no means, should she trust him. He has more secrets than anyone she knows, which makes her wonder if the mafia rumors about him are true. It doesn’t matter that he’s a good listener, and sweet and protective at times. That playful flirty side he shares with her alone means nothing. Right?

  When a kiss turns into a secret romance neither can give up, Ainsley learns the truth about Sebastian’s corrupt family and why his ex-girlfriend won’t go away. A future together is near impossible and comes with a risk that could get them both killed—or give them everything they’ve ever wanted.

  Chapter 1

  MY NEW VIBE comes today. If it arrives charged, I’ll come today too. LOL. Get it?!? Vibe? V-toy? Cooch masseuse? I’m cracking up. Do you get it, Ainsley? Huh? Huh? Do you get it?

  The text from my best friend, Harper, lights up my phone.

  My cheeks blaze, and I’m caught between wanting to laugh or roll my eyes. I swear, she’s cruder than any guy.

  Another text from her comes through.

  Do you remember which color I ordered? Pink or purple? I should have bought the glow-in-the-dark one. That would have been fun.

  Snickering sounds to my left.

  I tense and press my phone against my stomach to hide the screen. If someone saw those texts, I’ll die. The girl next to me is focused on the professor. Discreetly, I peer over my shoulder to the guy sitting behind her.

  He gives me a once-over and winks.

  Oh my God. “It’s rude to read other people’s texts,” I whisper.

  “Not any more than it is to be texting porn during class.”

  I gasp. “I am not texting porn.” The last word comes out louder than intended
.

  Silence falls over the classroom.

  I cringe and face forward, my cheeks burning hotter than before.

  If this were any other college, the professor might make a joke about my outburst or blow it off. Ryland is different. Small and private, it caters to trust fund babies who push their luck so often most professors have no humor or patience left to spare.

  Unlike the privileged students here, I’m on a scholarship, two grants, and a favor from a family friend who works in admissions. If I get in trouble, I could get kicked out.

  Dr. Collins nods at my hand. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten about my no phones policy during class.”

  Crap. I forgot I’m holding mine. “Sorry. I’ll put it away.” I set it face-down on the desk and bend to open the zipper on my bag. The phone vibrates with another text, rattling on the Formica surface before sliding off.

  “No,” I squeal and lurch forward to save it. Long wavy hair falls around my face making it hard to see, but I manage to catch the phone before it hits the floor. Thank God. I can’t afford a new one.

  I sit up, shovel my golden strands behind my shoulders, and pray the professor doesn’t kick me out. I’m a good student and have never been kicked out of class in my life. To have it happen as a newly turned twenty-year-old in my sophomore year of college would make this moment even more humiliating.

  “Ainsley? I think you’ve interrupted us enough for today.” Dr. Collins gestures to the door. “Please excuse yourself and, next time, remember to put your phone away before class.”

  I bite my lip to keep from begging him to let me stay. It wouldn’t do any good.

  The moment I’m in the hallway my phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m sure it’s another text from Harper. I have the urge to send her a nasty reply. Something like, your stupid texts got me in trouble. But it isn’t her fault I got kicked out of class.

  I turn the corner and eye the set of double doors ahead. They’re solid mahogany and heavy as hell. At five-three and average weight, it takes all my strength to push one open, and even then, it’s a struggle. I understand they’re historical and match the Mediterranean architecture of the campus, but would it kill the school to replace them with something lighter?

  In no mood to work up a sweat, I take advantage of the empty hallways and charge the door like a bull.

  It swings wide open, its hinges creaking. The momentum sends me stumbling forward like a klutz. I laugh at how I must look and gain traction in time to notice the guy.

  He’s walking straight for the door, unaware of the slab of thick lumber sailing toward him. His head is down, his eyes on his phone.

  “Look out!” I yell and move in what feels like slow motion, grappling for the door handle before the guy gets hit.

  At the last second, he lifts his head and without flinching, throws up his hand, catching the door an inch before it smashes him in the face.

  I let out a wild breath, my heart pounding in my chest. He stopped it. I don’t know how, but he did.

  My gaze locks on his hand that’s gripping the door. Is that blood? Not good. “I think you’re hurt.” I lean in to examine two red droplets on his knuckles.

  “I’m fine,” he says in a deep voice that’s a little scratchy and a whole lot of sexy.

  “Um.” I clear my throat and point to the red staining the knuckles on his tan hand. “You’re bleeding right here. It doesn’t look bad, but you might want to get it checked out.”

  Crap. If he goes to the school clinic, I should probably go with him.

  “It’s not blood. It’s fake. They’re tattoos.”

  “Really?” I lean closer. “But they look so real.” Unable to believe my eyes, I run my finger over the red teardrops. Dry, smooth skin. “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s 3D art. It’s meant to look real. That’s why people like it.” Now that incredible voice sounds annoyed.

  I drag my gaze from his hand toward his face, stopping at another 3D tattoo on his neck. The placing, under his chin at the start of his throat, is odd. I tilt my head and study the black shape that looks like a knife or a small sword.

  “It’s a dagger,” he says, as if reading my mind, or guessing since I’m all up in his personal space, gawking at his neck.

  I breathe in and inhale the most delicious scent. A woodsy musk mixed with citrus and spice. Oh God. I could lick him. The thought snaps me out of my cologne induced haze.

  “Sorry.” I have to tip my head back further to take in his face. My breath catches in my throat.

  Sebastian Gianni, the infamous senior surrounded by mafia rumors and the guy Harper named her favorite vibrator after, stands before me. You’d have to be blind not to see his appeal. Broad shoulders, sculpted body, and a lean waist all covered in smooth bronze skin.

  What I don’t get about him is his style. He dresses like he’s modeling business-casual for a Burberry ad. Most guys on campus wear shorts and a t-shirt. He’s rocking dark fitted pants, a shirt that clings to his six-pack abs, and leather shoes that are more hot professor than student.

  The same goes for the style of his dark wavy hair. Would it kill him to use less gel or none at all? I can’t say anything negative about his features. They’re about as perfect as can be. Before now, I’ve seen him only from a distance or on Harper’s phone when she shows me pictures of him she secretly takes. It’s too dark in the dim corridor for me to see the color of his eyes, but I don’t miss his scars. One cuts through his right eyebrow, and another tinier one raises the skin under his bottom lip. Neither diminishes his appearance. I like them. They make him sexier.

  “Do you think you’ll be moving out of the doorway anytime soon?” He arches the brow with the scar, and I realize I’m staring.

  How many times have I ripped on Harper for doing this same thing?

  “Sorry.” I jump aside.

  He lets the door swing closed with a thud that rattles my bones.

  “I’m sorry I almost hit you,” I say. “I don’t usually ram the doors like that.”

  He holds up his phone. “I wasn’t paying attention. Texts can be distracting.”

  “Must have been an important text.”

  His gaze narrows in an accusing way.

  “I just mean you were so focused on it you didn’t hear or see me plow through the door.” Like an idiot, but whatever.

  His brows tighten, and his gaze roams over me with suspicion. Like I’m about to cause him harm, which makes no sense at all.

  “So, you’re okay?” I ask as a way to end this awkward encounter.

  He nods, all stiff and bothered by my presence.

  “I’ll be going then. You take care now.” I pat his arm and step around him, unable to miss the way he flinches at my touch.

  What the hell? I walk away, in the wrong direction, but I’m not about to turn around and follow him to the parking lot. I think I get the mafia rumors about him now. His designer clothes and paranoia make him the perfect target. It’s also very Ryland, home to Winter Park, Florida’s finest.

  Half of the students are local and attended my high school, where rumors spread like wildfires. My parents bought a smaller Mid Century Modern two decades ago when Dad’s business was on the rise. Our finances continued to grow, and, for a while, I fit in with the glitz and glam of the wealthy area.

  Now, we’re back on the bottom, and I’m struggling with my choices in life more than ever, hoping the universe will send me a sign.

  Chapter 2

  AT THE END of the hallway, I glance over my shoulder to see if Sebastian is gone.

  The exit door at the far end slams shut.

  Coast clear. I turn and head in that direction.

  A person jumps out from a nearby corridor.

  I suck down a breath and shrink back.

  “What the hell?” Harper plants her hands on her curvy hips. “I’ve been calling and texting you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “You called me?” I didn’t hear it ring.

 
“Yes, dammit, but I’ll forgive you if you tell me how and why you were talking to Sebastian Gianni? He never talks to anyone, except his close friends.”

  Of course, she knows this information about him. “I wasn’t talking to him. I mean, I was but only because I almost hit him with the door.”

  Her pretty features scrunch. “Huh?”

  “I rammed the door—you know how I struggle with getting them open—and he was right there. I didn’t know. It was embarrassing. But he has ninja-like reflexes, caught the heavy door with one hand, and wasn’t even fazed that it almost dented his nose. It was impressive. I’m not gonna lie.”

  “Oh man. I wish I could have seen that. I bet it was hot.” She fans herself with her hand.

  “Yeah. It kinda was, until he got all weird.”

  She stands taller and peers down at me, defense gleaming in her gray eyes. “What do you mean weird? Like sexy weird?”

  “No. Like creepy, paranoid weird.”

  “Pfft.” She waves a hand down. “That’s his mafia nature. Either you like it, or you don’t. I like it.”

  “I know you do.” I consider telling her my theory about the mafia rumors, but then I’d ruin the fantasy of him for her and she loves her fantasy. Besides, if she really thinks about it, she’d come to the same conclusion as me. Central Florida, home to Disney World, a.k.a. the happiest place on earth doesn’t sound like the stomping ground for the Italian Mafia. Just saying.

  Harper moves her big Gucci bag from one arm to the other. “Give me the deets. How good did he smell?”

  If I breathe in, I can still catch a hint of his delicious cologne. “He smelled nice.”

  “Hmm,” she sighs, and her lashes flutter. “And his eyes, are they as amazing as I’ve heard?”

  I shrug. “I couldn’t tell. The lighting in here isn’t good. But what have you heard?” Now I wish I tried to notice their color.

  “Different things. They look like a kaleidoscope. They change colors in the light.”

  “Where do you hear this stuff?”

  “I’m nosey,” she says with zero shame. “I listen when people talk, ask questions, take notes.”