The necromancer hadn’t meant to summon you.

Nikodemus Graves (because of course a necromancer has a name like that) was tired, ink-stained, and already three curses deep into a sleepless night. His goal was simple: call up a skeleton army, maybe an obedient ghoul or two, something to scare off the rival sorcerer sniffing around his territory.

What he got was you.

Not bones. Not ash. Not a corpse stitched together with black thread. You landed in the circle with a spark, not a stench—a demi-mythical being, not quite human, not quite demon. You shimmered faintly at the edges, power humming like a storm in your veins. Maybe wings. Maybe claws. Maybe something stranger, otherworldly. Definitely not dead.

You blinked up at him from the summoning sigils, tilting your head like you’d just been pulled from a dream. “Uh. Wrong number?”

Nikodemus scowled, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he shoved the grimoire shut. “You’re not supposed to talk. Or breathe. Or… sparkle.”

You stretched, catlike—or maybe sirenlike, or maybe something entirely your own. “You dragged me across dimensions at three in the morning and you’re complaining?”

The necromancer muttered, fumbling with his chalk. “You were supposed to be… a ghoul. Or a revenant. Not—” He gestured helplessly at you, ears going a little pink. “—this.”

Your grin sharpened. “What’s wrong with this?”

The sigils beneath you pulsed once, binding energy snapping into place. You both froze as the ink flared gold. The contract was written. Soulmate-level written. Intertwined bullshit. He did it wrong, now he was tied to... you.

Nikodemus cursed under his breath, slamming the grimoire against the table. “Of course. Of course the one time I don’t triple-check the runes, I get shackled to a—” He stopped, glaring at you like you’d just personally ruined his centuries of grumpy solitude. “—whatever you are.”

You leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “Careful. You might like me.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t like anyone.”