TWENTY

D EATH

Death enjoyed the act of ferrying souls into the next life. He enjoyed being a silent spectator as they took their first steps upon his bridge of souls, all their fears and worries melting away and replaced by the endless possibilities of what awaited them.

Would they choose to reincarnate? Or would they venture to the afterlife to live among their loved ones?

There were few things that relaxed him as much as watching the souls slip into their new lives, for in those few precious moment they no longer viewed Death as the enemy, but as their guide onward to limitless wonders.

Death could have stood beside that bridge for hours, watching each soul as it crossed over. But there was one soul in particular whom Death wanted to see above all others. One whom he had not spent nearly enough time with this holiday season.

Death returned to Wisteria late that evening, well past an hour when anyone should have been awake, to the room he and Signa were to share.

It was his first time inside, and as such he examined her gingerbread door, tasting the clove and cinnamon that permeated the air, and then looked toward the plush bed that awaited him.

It was empty.

Death checked the attached sitting room and bathroom, but Signa was not in either.

He could not sense her presence within the walls of Wisteria at all; the only sign that she'd ever been there was an open window draped with curtains that billowed in the wind, naked branches scraping like claws along the glass.

Death moved to shut it, only to find that a plump belladonna berry sat atop the sill.

He picked up the berry and rolled it between his fingers as he inspected the darkness ahead.

There, far in the distance, was a flicker of lamplight.

Is that you, Little Bird? His eyes narrowed on the figure who plunged deeper into the night, as if beckoning him. He couldn't quite make out her form, but he felt Signa's amusement stir in the corner of his mind.

Why don't you come and find out? Her voice was a balm to his soul, as welcome as rain in a drought, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to touch her. To curl into bed and rest beside her sleeping form.

Death slipped onto the windowsill and out into the night. He moved like the wind itself as he hunted her down. Like the very darkness that stretched across the forest floor, woven between ever branch.

He didn't need to hunt for long. Signa was waiting for him in a clearing, her head tipped back as her pale skin drank in the silver moonlight.

It welcomed her, just as it always had welcomed him, shining its praise as the night cradled her in its embrace.

Signa was a dream given shape, as lovely as he'd ever seen, with her hair unbound, the dark tresses dancing in the gentle breeze.

A smile graced her lips as she held her hand out to him. And on her body she wore a dress that made his chest tighten. One that was as bold as blood, designed without embellishment or filigree to distract the eye.

It was the dress that Death had gifted her all those years ago, and seeing it on her again left him more stunned than he'd been the first time she'd worn it.

She was beautiful, this love of his. The most perfect creature that he'd been blessed to look upon. Oh, how far they had come.

When he'd given this dress to her back then, Death had only hoped she would accept it. That one day she might welcome his touch, let alone crave it as he had craved hers. And now, after all these years, he saw the reflection of his dream come true staring back at him.

Signa was his, as he would always be hers. Until the day came when the earth claimed them and they were no longer of this world, Death would love her more than she could ever possibly understand.

All those years of being alone—of wishing for a single soul who might be able to understand him, let alone share his touch—and he wouldn't change any of it.

Signa stood in a clearing that was not blanketed with snow, but with wildflowers.

With wolfsbane and marigolds. Foxglove and hellebore that brushed against the hem of her gown, a rainbow of colors.

She wore the same masquerade mask that Blythe had gifted her the night of their first dance, and Death eased it off her as he stepped forward, smoothing his ungloved hand along her cheek.

The bargain Blythe and Fate had made all those years ago was the best thing that could ever have happened to him.

It was the only reason he could touch Signa without consequence, no longer stealing her life every time he wanted to kiss her. To hold her.

Now, he did both freely, cradling her warmth against himself as he pressed a kiss onto her perfect lips.

"The stars themselves should bow to you," he whispered against her skin, "for you are the most radiant creature to ever walk this earth."

Signa took her hand in his, sighing her contentedness. "Blythe helped me with the garden. I know it's not the same, but I suppose that having Aris back has made me nostalgic. For your gift this year, I wanted to re-create the night of our first dance."

"You mean the night you fell in love with me?" he teased, dropping his hand to her waist.

Signa leaned into his touch. "That's precisely what I mean." She was staring up at him beneath long lashes, and if he had had the luxury of a heartbeat, Death was certain it would have given out then.

"We've had quite the journey, haven't we?" There was a dreamy tone to her voice as she dipped her head against his chest. "That night of our first dance… it feels like a lifetime ago. How quickly time passes."

Perhaps to Signa it did move quickly, but Death wanted to tell her that these years together had felt like minutes.

That he was glad he was immortal, if only to ensure that every morning he could be there to watch as Signa roused from the bedroom in her robe and slippers.

That he would forever be able to see her bickering with Foxglove's spirits and to hold her as they curled up by the hearth in the evenings.

It was a simple life, but that was all he had ever wanted. And if the choice were his, it was one that Death would happily relive a million lifetimes more.

"I would not trade our life together for anything," he said, kissing the top of her head before he pulled her in for a dance. With each step, the shadows around Death darkened, his plain black shirt replaced by a suit of pure onyx. By gilded cuff links and a mask of shadows.

It was what he'd worn the first night he'd truly held Signa in his arms, and the mere act of donning it had him feeling all the more sentimental. They truly had come a long way—through murders and mysteries. Through deaths and heartache, and new beginnings.

"Do you ever wonder what's next for us?" Signa whispered, her voice a tickle against his chest.

Death needed no time to consider his words. "I care not for what comes next, as you have given me more than I ever thought possible. You have given me a life beyond the shadows, Little Bird. And whatever happens from here, I know that we will face it together."

Signa lifted her head to meet his gaze. She pressed closer, and soon it felt to him as if the rest of the world was melting away.

"Together," she repeated softly, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Always."

He kissed her then. Kissed her like a man who had spent a multitude of lifetimes lost in the darkness and had finally found his way back to the light.

"Merry Christmas, Signa," he whispered between her lips.

She smiled, holding him close. "Merry Christmas, Sylas."

Atop the frost-coated flowers surrounded by mounds of snow, Death and his bride danced. The night itself folded around them, promising that neither would ever be left to face the world alone again.

Promising that, no matter what, they would be together for all eternity.