I’d lived what the human world would call a thousand lifetimes. I’d seen wars fought. Kings rise. Devils and empires fall. I’d endured more than my share of hardships. I’ve died a thousand deaths or more.

Never once in my life had I felt an all-consuming fear.

Until now.

A gnarled spike, two inches in diameter, protruded from her stomach. And even through the bodies of demons moving to run away from her, I could see every glorious inch as she lit up. The beast couldn’t come out, but she didn’t need to anymore. Now that Ruby knew how to control flames, even dying, she was going to make it count.

It started with a glow beneath her skin. Her eyes turned an iridescent blue, reflecting an unnatural light. There was determination and pain painted on her face. She clenched her fists together, and the shift in the atmosphere was sudden. Flames shot out from her, but unlike the fires that she started while sleeping, these flames took the form of animals—raccoons—as they chased after every demon attempting to flee. They traveled so swift and sudden that the concrete began to crack as the structural integrity became compromised. Her power blasted down the floors and up the walls and through the ceiling. It covered every inch of visible space so that in that moment, all I saw was her.

Then she fell.

I couldn’t say what happened around her after that. I couldn’t tell you if the roar that followed was me or one of her other mates, or even her familiar. I just ran, skidding to my knees in time to catch her before she cracked her head on the craggy concrete.

She blinked. Her eyes already glassy as she stared up at me unseeing.

“No-no-no-no-damn it, Ruby—you can’t do this—” It wasn’t even a choice in that moment for me to even consider grieving. She couldn’t leave me. She couldn’t leave us.

I couldn’t allow that.

The spike in her stomach said otherwise as blood started to pour out, oozing to fester around the wound. Beneath the smeared blood, her skin began to turn black. Poison.

I swallowed hard because there was only one way she would survive this.

There was a reason I didn’t brand her first. In fact, I intended to be last. To be branded by Death was more than by any of the other Horsemen. It was something I wanted to talk to her about. To let her have the choice, since I took her choice in everything else.

It was meant to be a gift, but now that was taken as well.

She had to live. That was where I drew the line.

Which meant she had to change.

I pulled the stake out and tossed it aside, placing the palm of my hand over the wound that now gushed blood and poison. I siphoned off a piece of my own soul with my magic and pushed it into her.

Branding with a mate was a special kind of process because you gave a part of yourself, and in doing so, you made a part of them like you. I was more than a necromancer, but there wasn’t a word for what I could do. The way I could exist, both dead and alive. In the veil, but not.

No other necromancer could defy Death, but I was the exception. I earned my name. I made my name.

Her skin felt cool beneath my hand, but the black poison was starting to recede. While the wound still gushed blood and gore, the magic of my soul was now planted within her. A piece of me for the piece of fire she gave me.

That is what separated mates from other types of bonds. There was a give and take that did not come easily or naturally to demons. Even many harems in Hell consisted of one demon taking pieces from all of their partners, but never giving. With mating, it was a choice.

And I chose to make her immortal.

Truly immortal.