His sincerity tore through her, bowing her spine. “It seems that even Death has irrational fears,” she whispered. Death, however, did not seem convinced.
“There is only one person in this world who ever held the power you used the night in Elijah’s study,” he said. “So long as my brother believes that you and she are one and the same, he won’t leave you be. Having seen the two of them together, I can understand why.
“When I look around this place, I see my brother for what he is,” Death continued. “A desperate man who has spent hundreds of years unable to move on from the woman who laid claim to his heart. He will not know peace until he finds her. To make a deal with him, you need to understand the stakes. You need to see him for who he is. None of us would want to spend a single lifetime in such despair, let alone the eternity my brother will endure.”
Signa couldn’t tear her eyes from the portrait. The woman in it was different from her in every way, and yet Signa felt drawn to Life in a manner that words could not describe.
Fate presented himself as a confident and assured man, but if what Death said was true and Wisteria Gardens was truly a reflection of his inner self, then Fate was on the precipice of breaking beyond repair. She tried to swallow down the pity knotting her throat, turning away from the portrait.
“There’s more to see.” Death reached for the frame again, keeping one hand on Signa to ensure she remained in her reaper form. It took him a moment before he found a small latch, a soft click sounding as he pressed it.
The portrait swung open, revealing a massive room of tapestries. “Watch your head,” Death warned as they stepped inside, and she ducked just in time for a tapestry to swing over her head, its threads unraveling into an assortment of colors, each of which landed in a separate basket.
Signa couldn’t look away. It didn’t make sense how the lines of tapestries continued to move, let alone how threads and needles wove without any hand to guide them, yet the room reminded Signa of a factory all the same. She was enthralled by the process, tempted to disappear down the line and explore when Death squeezed her hand.
“To you and me, these will only ever look like tapestries. But to Fate, a single thread is the difference between life and death. That is his power, Signa. If ever you believe that you are the one in control—if ever he tries to strike another deal—I want you to think of this room.”
Signa shivered. She may not have understood this place in its entirety, but there was no denying its raw magic. Perhaps Death was right—Signa may not have been as clever with her deal as she’d believed.
“My brother will use every bit of his power to steal you away.” Death’s hand slid to her hip, backing her against the stone wall as a dark possessiveness worked its way into his voice. “And unless you decide that you want to go, I will use every bit of mine and more to keep you here with me. There are to be no more bargains. Do you understand?” He tipped her chin up, speaking the words against her lips.
His voice muddled her thoughts, not a single one of them tame as she arched her back and pressed deeper into Death’s touch. She was helpless against him, craving him against her skin.
“No more bargains,” she repeated, pleasure shooting through her as she captured his lips. Death groaned softly as he hooked his arms around her, hiking her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist.
“Very good.” His hand slipped beneath her skirts then, snaking up her thigh.
She gave no thought to where they were as she tipped her head against the stone, urging his hand higher. Yet Death stilled as a noise sounded from the first floor, easing his hand back and pressing it instead to Signa’s lips.
Easy, Death’s voice whispered through her mind. My brother cannot see us in this state.
Perhaps not, though he could see that the door had been left ajar. Ever so slowly, Death slid his shadows toward the portrait, though the moment he went to press it shut, it gave a quiet squeak that made the rest of the palace still, as if holding its breath. Fate, too, was quiet for a long moment before Signa heard the stomp of Fate’s boots hurrying up the steps.
Signa curled her fingers into Death’s shoulders. Brilliant work. Very “ghosts passing through” of you, she hissed, tensing with Fate’s every step. Death ignored her as the shadows surged forward, shutting the door with a click so loud that she nearly groaned.
Death smirked at her then, pressing one last kiss to Signa’s mouth before he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Hold on tight.”