Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)

by Adalyn Grace

I have a friend who was asked, “What gets you out of bed in the morning?” during a job interview. She answered: “My alarm clock.” This book is for her—for always being my first reader, the best travel partner, an A+ stalker, and for making me laugh even when she doesn’t mean to.

The first was perhaps the ugliest that Fate had ever woven, for too much of it was gray, and purpled like a bruise. And yet it was one that Fate had taken his time with, every thread sewed with precision as he crafted this cruel gift for his brother: a woman Death would love but could never have.

He needed to know. Needed to see this girl with threads of silver, this Signa Farrow, for himself. And so Fate grabbed his hat and gloves, and he went to crash a party.

“You may have reign over the dead and dying, but let’s not forget that it’s my hand that controls the fates of the living. For as long as she breathes, this one is mine.”

Elijah took Blythe’s face in both hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is nothing to fret over, all right? We’ll have everything sorted out by morning.” Elijah embraced Signa then, and her body warmed from head to foot as he kissed her forehead, just as he had kissed his own daughter. Perhaps it was because both she and Blythe were on the verge of tears—each of the girls holding the other’s hand—that Elijah looked so calm. Like a man on his way to tea, rather than one publicly accused of murder. “Do not trouble your mind, my girls.” He set a hand upon their shoulders. “I’ll see you soon.”

Signa didn’t have the opportunity to press for more before Death stole his hand away to take hold of her chin, tipping it toward him. As dark as it was in the parlor, Signa could still see the cut of his jaw among the ever-shifting shadows. The tension in her shoulders eased as he touched her bare skin for the first time that night. Coolness flooded through her body, and Signa tipped her head against him, savoring the touch. “Tell me the truth.” Death’s lips brushed her ear, and her knees buckled. “Did he hurt you, Little Bird?”

Signa trailed a hand down his arm, watching as the shadows melted beneath her fingertips and gave way to skin. To hair that was white as bone, and a frame as tall as a willow and broad as an oak. To eyes as dark as galaxies, which shone as they looked upon her with the very same hunger that pulsed deep within her core.

“This is where I learned to dance.” She curled her fingers into the cushions, nails dragging across the fabric. “Percy helped teach me.” That was all Death needed to understand, adjusting his position so that he could scoop her into his arms. Signa sat between his thighs, cradled against the pleasant coolness of his chest. “You are not responsible for what happened to your cousin.”

I do not know when or how, he told her, the words little more than a whisper in her mind, but I will find my way back to you soon.

Perhaps she should change her way of thinking to instead always anticipate the worst, and to be pleasantly surprised if nothing horrible happened.

When everything went to hell, at least she could always count on scones.

“I did everything I could.” Byron fisted his cane tight and looked his niece in the eye. “I’m sorry, Blythe, but I’m afraid that Elijah is being detained for the murder of Lord Wakefield.”

Byron operated under the belief that there was a proper order to all things—that women had their place and men had theirs.

He didn’t need to say the rest; the truth of it already hung heavy around them. The punishment for murder was execution. If they didn’t find the true culprit, Elijah would be hanged.

Gundry looked every bit like a beast that had crawled its way out of the depths of hell,

“Wonderful. I quite like your face, and I’m not sure that it could handle another one of your attempts.”

Death cupped the side of her face and bent to kiss her with lips that tasted sweet as nectar and felt as all-consuming as winter.

“You,” he said at last, “are the girl who defied death.”

But no matter how much she strained—no matter how much she looked upon him or let his skin sear hers—nothing about this man was familiar.

“For every human life, there is a tapestry that defines their fate,” he said. “On yours were threads of silver that I did not sew. My threads are gold while Death’s are black. And yours… yours have always been silver.”

Fate was a fool if he thought that she would ever leave Death. She loved him like the winter, resolute and all-consuming. Loved him with summer’s steadiness, and with the ferocity of nature itself.

I need you to tell me who Life is, Signa said by way of an answer, hoping to bypass any argument they had no time for. I need you to tell me everything.

There was a woman like us, he continued. One who had always been in this world in one form or another. Her name was Life, and she was radiant. Fate was immediately taken with her, and they fell in love before my eyes. Life would create a soul, and Fate would give it purpose. He would weave their story before her. They were kinder stories then. Woven with more care because Life wanted her souls to thrive, and Fate wanted her to be happy. For her to smile. She had a beautiful smile.

I loved her very much, Little Bird. But it was not romantic. The older we became, the more I began to realize that Life was not like me or Fate. Although he and I were ageless, lines creased her eyes and mouth. She began to tire, and there came a time when the new souls she could generate were few and far between.

One day, she pulled me aside to tell me that it was time for her to go. She told me that life was not meant to be infinite, and that she would return to us in a new form soon enough. For there is no life without experiencing death. She asked me to take her, but first, she wanted one more day with Fate. One more day to say goodbye.

He demanded that I refuse her request. He made it clear that if I didn’t, he would never speak to me again. He couldn’t see that I was mourning, too, and in that mourning… I was susceptible.

When Life came to me the next day, I refused her, and it was the most selfish thing I have ever done. For Life was stronger than any of us, and she knew it was her time to go. She would reincarnate, but none of us knew where or what form she would assume—nor did we know how long it would take for her to find us again. We’d spent a great deal of our existence without her already, and neither Fate nor I wanted to risk that again. But it’s as I said already—one way or another, it was her time.

The more I resisted it, the worse the situation became. Signa kept still, hardly breathing as she clung to his every word. I heard the call of her death. I knew it was time. Still, I resisted until it was pent up inside me and burst, and I gave her the worst imaginable death possible. The plague, Signa. The Black Death. I was trying so selfishly to keep her alive until I couldn’t manage any longer. She was the first victim, and then it spread and spread—and, God, how it spread. Do ...

Twenty-five million, he said at last, and Signa felt the severity of such a number like a blow to her stomach. In four years, I claimed twenty-five million innocent lives. All because I was unwilling to let her go.

It was more than ridiculous, Signa. It was selfish and cruel. I have not seen Life since, and neither has my brother. Perhaps this is our punishment, or perhaps she doesn’t remember us. It’s hard to be certain of anything, but I haven’t been able to find Life since the day I watched her die.

Has anyone ever told you how immensely stubborn you are? She was surprised by the grin that split her lips. Would you have me any other way? His pause was enough of an answer. Keep it up, Little Bird, and we’ll see if you’re still as stubborn the next time I get my hands on you.

Give me the chance, and I shall show you that I am not the villain here, Miss Farrow.

Blythe waved her away. “He’s not going to see me. I’m just going to listen. Speak loudly, cousin. Enunciate.”

She didn’t need to turn to know where Death stood, for his shadows had already curled around her, bringing her to his chest. He hugged her so fiercely that Signa wondered whether he’d ever let go.

She knew she shouldn’t feel nearly as giddy as she did, but Signa’s life had never been normal, and sneaking into the study to investigate her uncle with Death at her side felt like her own personal brand of courtship.

She liked that she and Death were so similar. Liked that there was a side to her that only he understood.

“But you have her powers,” he said. “Which means that your options are limitless, Little Bird. You no longer need to be consumed so thoroughly by all that’s dead or dying.” “You don’t get to make that decision for me.” She would wage war on this hill if doing so would make him come to his senses. “You don’t get to tell me what I should do, and you don’t get to pull away from me. Not now.”

“Whatever you decide, I will be here,” Death promised. “Until the moment you tell me to leave, I will be by your side.”

“Whatever you are and whatever you can do, you are not who Fate expects you to be. You are still Signa Farrow, and I am not a good enough man to allow my brother to take you from me.”

And it was that while the vines tore through the floor and the burn of Life’s powers lanced through her, Signa had heard the song that she and Fate had danced to. She had heard the song he’d asked her to remember.

How long had it been since she’d had the strength to pull herself up without thinking anything of it? Blythe turned away from the groom as tears pricked her eyes.

The very act of envisioning him there had the pressure in her chest deflating, for she knew that no matter what happened, he would keep Blythe safe.

She didn’t care to be a sunflower, unfurling her petals in the daylight for all to see. She would rather be an adorable little mushroom, thriving in the dark crevices where few ventured to look.

Death’s voice came as easy as the autumn breeze, sweeping in and lulling her into its comfort. If people are afraid, he said, then let them be afraid. Your shoulders were not meant to bear the weight of their expectations, Signa. You were not made to please others.

I love it when you make that face, he teased, one thumb sweeping up to skim beneath her eyes, where her cheeks were undoubtedly flushed. I so rarely get to see it. Usually when we’re like this…

“Have I ever told you that my favorite color is the very shade of red you turn when you’re flustered?”

“I have no interest in you, Miss Hawthorne, though getting you riled up isn’t without its appeal. You should see my brother’s face right now.”

“Your parents will be so proud when I tell them about the woman their daughter has become. These twenty years were worth the wait. I am happy to have known you, Signa, if only for a moment.”

“Listen to me.” Signa settled her palms against either side of his face. “I love you. You have made me happier and more myself than I have ever been. If we’re only to have one more night, then I want it to be something that we can always think back to.”

“You are my world, Signa Farrow.” The tenderness in his voice threatened to break her resolve. Signa had to turn away, shutting her eyes against the feather-soft kisses he peppered down her neck. “Whatever happens tomorrow, know that this will not be our final night together. I swear that nothing could ever stop me from fighting for you.” “I know you won’t.” His words were the most beautiful song, and she held to them like a promise. Let Fate believe he’d won; neither she nor Death would ever stop fighting.