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The Brand pressured my soul. It diminished me. It ate at the fringes of who I was.

“Darkness is inevitable.”

It consumed me.

24 | Containment of the Soul

Zayne

“I will take control of this ship,” Ayla hissed.

The Brand covered her completely now, toes to fingertips. Her joints shifted, more mobile than before.

I blocked the door, and she shredded her fingernails wildly into me—prepared to go through me if it meant reaching her destination.

I shoved the ashflower to her chest, touching her too-smooth, too-reflective skin. Ayla’s body—once soft and firm and enchanting—had become terrifying.

I yanked on the Brand; I gave my command. “Shade’s Brand, leave and let Ayla be.”

She stilled. I forced the Brand to heel. I reached past the Brand, searching for Ayla—I couldn’t find her.

Her eyes had turned entirely gray. The Brand bucked her body; she twisted out of my grip. “Ayla is mine!”

Ashflower withered in my palm.

Ninti grew, becoming the largest wolf I’d ever seen. She shoved Ayla to the bed and pinned her down. Ayla squirmed under the weight of the Firewolf, but even with her unnatural strength, she was no match for Ninti.

“She’s still there,” Ninti insisted. “Trust me—trust her.”

“How do we reach her?”

“Descend to the Underworld,” she directed. “You’re more powerful there. I can back your command with my power, like we did with the Gray General. Prepare yourself with a handful of ashflower, and when we’re in position, tell the Brand to leave.”

My heart raced. This was beyond anything I had done before, but I couldn’t lose Ayla, not to the Brand. I couldn’t lose anyone else—

“All right,” I said.

I dove into the depths of the Underworld. The flow of death dragged at my feet, and I allowed it to pull me toward a dark mass, toward Ayla.

Her brightness was gone, blocked by the Brand. What had been a lump of coal, implanted by the Gray General, now consumed her.

As I neared, my vision cleared.

There was a jar. Ceramic and tall.

The Brand appeared as a gray ghost—one gaining definition, finding form. It grew bigger, looming over Ayla’s diminutive form. Her arms and legs were transparent and wispy, her torso faded. Eyes closed, she seemed unconscious.

As Ayla dissolved, the Brand grew defined. It was taking shape. With its newly formed body, it drove Ayla to the jar.

Ayla shifted, obedient to her new master. She drifted, decreasing in size. The fringe of her soul dipped into the jar.

I’d heard of these soul jars. Once sealed, the container would hold Ayla, easing the Brand’s reign over her body.

The Brand formed a hand, and in it, it held a lid. It braced, ready to seal the jar—

“Ayla,” I called for her. I gathered all that Ayla was—all that I knew. The fae whose blood drove her to dance. The lost daughter. The fiery fae I wanted to fuck. She was so much more than I knew—if only I had the chance to learn.

My spirit reached for her soul.