"Amazing isn't it?" he murmurs.

I nod, "I'll endure you forever if it means I can see that anytime I want," I joke.

"You speak as though you have a choice."

His tone is casual, not deprecating in any way, but it irks me. It is not the first time he talks as though he can chose for me. Or, as though he has already chosen for me.

"How about we just stop talking before you ruin the moment?" I retort.

He whistles. "Ballsy of you to taunt the person who could literally drop you to your death right now."

I do not react to his empty threat. If he could actually kill me, he would have a long time ago.

"Hey, you seem to forget I could easily start petting your wings."

He stifles a laugh, but I did not miss the way his back stiffened when I said it.

"Let's go back, before you catch a cold." Before I can tell him how perfectly fine I am, how content I am to stay here provided he shuts his mouth, the jerk tips us forward and we plummet towards the ground. Fast. With our heads upside down.

I feel the blood rushing to my head and squeeze my eyes shut. I dig my fingers in his shoulders, holding on like my life depends on it (I think it actually does).

As soon as we land beside his house, I angrily push off him. Of course, instead of landing on my feet properly and stomping away like I planned, I loose my balance and fall on my ass.

Death's wings retract in a puff of smoke and he spins around to face me.

"Are you ok?" he asks with concern. He extends his hand to help me up.

I would gladly take it if it weren't from the fact that I have lost all ability to control my limbs at the moment. No, not because I hurt myself falling. Not even because I am frozen in this god awful temperature, but rather because in front of me stands a god. Without his shirt on.

And I am apparently a pervert. Death definitely had a nice back when I saw it earlier, but the front of him is just... delicious-looking. I am not certain I have the words for it. He has the kind of muscle definition that would make any body-builder jealous. Hell, I think I might be jealous. Who gets to just have a body like that for all of eternity. In fifteen years, I'll basically be a grandma and my body is not even like that at my fittest.

"Emma?" he interrupts the awkward silence. I should probably say something.

I lift myself up, wiping the snow off my sweat-pants to take my eyes off him and regain my composure.

"Yeah, totally cool," I snarl, "How about a damn warning next time?" Before you turn me upside down and shoot for the ground like a lighting bolt.

"So, there will be a next time?" he says with a smirk. I watch as he crosses his arms and my eyes wander down to his abs.

Touché.

"Fuck off." I turn around and start stomping to his house like a toddler who did not get what she wants. Petty, I know.

He follows me inside, the smirk still plastered on his face.

"You deserved it." He backs me to the wall, caging me by placing a hand on each side of my head. He smiles down at me, but there is an edge to his eyes. "It's time for you to stop taking the soul mate thing so lightly. I'm bound to you and you're bound to me. That's how it works." He grabs my chin and forces me to look him in the eyes, "Get used to it."

"I'm not going to be with someone just because of some supernatural voodoo shit," I spit, jerking my head sideways to get out of his hold. His eyes turn cold. So, so cold. The purest, darkest black I have ever seen. It makes me shudder.

"Too fucking bad, because I'm not going anywhere." He says in a cold, deadly tone. He grabs my chin again, more firmly this time. "And if another man so much as tries to touch you, I will kill him."

I search into his eyes for a sign that he is bluffing, because quite frankly this is nonsense. It is revolting.

"You don't care, do you?" I grab the hand he is holding my chin with and pull it away. He lets me. "What if I don't want this?" I cry. "What if I can't give it to you? Did you even think about that?"

"You really think I don't care?" he bites. He brings his face closer to mine, "You have no fucking idea how much self-control it's taken me to wait this long. I could have taken you a long time ago, Emma. And you know what the worse part is? You would have let me and you would have liked it," he snarls, "But I didn't. Because I knew you weren't there yet. And you would hate yourself."

His words hit me hard where it counts. Right into my guts. I know he speaks the truth, but the truth sometimes hurts more than the lies you have been telling yourself.

What he does not understand is that I will never get there. Not like I think he would want me to. I am not ready to relinquish control so soon after getting it back. I can not do it. And with Death, the living embodiment of everything I want to get away from. As far as I can remember, killing has been forced upon me until I began to think it was all I was good at. I always knew it was wrong. I always wanted to get away from it. And now? Well now the universe has played a cruel joke on me.

As if reading my mind, he says, "You need to stop seeing me as just Death. What we have," he gestures between us, "is not wrong."

"Then why doesn't it feel right?"

"Because of what's in here," he taps my forehead with two gentle fingers.

"Do you trust me?" he whispers in my ear.

He takes my lack of answer as a yes, because the next thing I know, two strong arms pull me into his hard chest and his familiar lips take possession of mine. Warmth radiates from his body and I automatically press myself closer to him, seeking his warmth. He smells of snow and pine, an intoxicating mix that soothes me. Soon, I begin to relax in his arms, responding to him with kisses of my own. He embraces me much the same way as an addict getting his fix after withdrawal. With urgency and an unmatched hunger.

His hands find my waist and he digs his fingers in my skin. My entire body starts tingling, always responding to his touch. I flatten my palms again his chest, letting my fingers trail down his ab muscles. So smooth, but so hard. He cups my bottom and lifts me up. I circle his waist with my legs and he pins me to the wall, devouring my mouth while my hands grip his shoulders.

For a moment, I think maybe, just maybe, I do not have to give myself away completely to him. This does not have to mean anything more than I want it too. I can do this without it complicating things.

His hand fists my hair and he pulls down to expose my throat. He starts suckling the skin there, and I feel a mixture of pain and pleasure ripples through my body. All thoughts of burning houses, crazy vampires and possessed parents escape me as I get lost in his touch.

His hand slips beneath my shirt, grazing the skin of my stomach and drawing slow, gentle circles that send goosebumps up all the way to my neck. Then, his mouth finds mine again and I part my lips to grant him entry.

The kisses grow hot and heavy, until I can barely stifle the moans that have been building up at the back of my throat. Death is all around me. Every touch, every breath, the taste in my mouth. It is all him.

I feel the change in atmosphere and open my eyes to find us teleported in his bedroom. My feet hit a carpeted floor, the edge of a bed behind my legs.

Death unclasps his cloak at my neck and it falls to the ground, leaving my shoulders exposed. He looks down at me with smouldering pools of coal, with an unconcealed tenderness that I never knew he was capable of feeling. I look behind me at the bed. This is uncharted territory. It makes it seem so official, so... final. He must have noticed the alarm in my eyes, because he pulls back.

"Let's take it slow, shall we?" he mutters.

He pulls me up and sits on the bed, positioning me so I am now straddling him. I clam up. I do not know why I become so nervous all of a sudden.

"Stop thinking so much."

I know.

I kiss him, tentatively at first. He does not push it, but follows my rhythm. I clutch his shoulders and he presses a hand at the small of my back to bring me closer. Then, he slowly pulls down my spaghetti straps, letting the tank top fall at my waist. I should feel cold, exposed, but my insides are molten lava. His thumbs brush my breast and he starts kneading them carefully, with calculated movements. How can he be so in control, while I am a bundle of nerves?

Don't think too much.

He brings his mouth down to one nipple and nips it gently, sending bolts of pleasure radiating down to my core. I stifle a moan, too proud to let him know how much I am enjoying this. I have no idea if he feels the same. He is so... careful.

He shifts a little under me and I can feel the bulge stretching his pants and pressing against me. It feels good. I want to feel more.