Chapter Four
The Banshee in Red Hook
Knox
“Trust me to stand.” Briana’s words follow me into the cage and sit beneath my skin like a blade. Not in my back. Worse. In my chest.
I don’t know how to trust her to stand when every instinct I have demands I put myself between her and anything with teeth or ill intent.
I don’t know how to stay still when she says she can walk into darkness on her own two feet.
I don’t know how to quiet the beast inside me when all he understands is that our mate has been hurt and the things that hurt her still breathe.
But I told myself I would try. So I am trying.
Badly.
The cage door shuts behind me with a metallic clang, and the sound should settle me. It usually does. The cage has always been the easiest place in the world for me to exist. No lies. No pretty words. No pretending I am anything other than what I am.
Violence in a body.
But today, even the cage feels too small.
Cruz stands across from me, arms loose at his sides, grin gone. He volunteered to spar because he is either loyal or stupid. Most days, he is both.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
“No.”
His brows lift. “That’s unsettlingly honest.”
“Shut up and fight.”
“See, that sounds more like you.”
He moves first. Cruz is fast for his size. People forget that because we’re both built like stone walls with anger issues. They expect brute force. They expect heavy fists and straightforward attacks.
Cruz likes to prove people wrong. He is absolutely the exception to the fucking rule.
He darts left, then comes in low, aiming for my ribs. I block, catch his wrist, and shove him back. He uses the momentum to spin away before I can lock him down.
“Sloppy,” he says, and I growl. “Emotionally and physically.”
“I said shut up.”
“You did.” He circles me. “I ignored you.”
He comes in again, and this time I let him get close enough to land a punch against my jaw. Pain snaps through my face, sharp and welcome. I answer with a hit to his stomach that sends him back three steps.
He laughs once, breathless. “Better.”
The beast rises. Not fully. Not enough to shift. Just enough to make my skin too tight and my horns ache beneath my skull. My hands flex, nails thickening for half a second before I force them back.
Cruz sees it. “Knox.”
“I’m in control.”
“Lying is unattractive.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to attract you.”
He smirks. “No, you’re trying very hard not to attract a certain traumatized blonde upstairs.”
My vision flashes black at the edges, and Cruz’s expression shifts instantly.
“Careful,” he says.
The word sounds wrong. Aldron said it last night. Briana snapped at him for it this morning. Don’t careful him because of me.
I still hear her voice. Fierce and furious, standing between the vampire who owns the damn building and me, like she has any chance of stopping either of us if we lose ourselves.
She has no idea what that did to me. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s worse.
I drop my hands and step back. “I’m done.”
Cruz blinks. “We just started.”
“I said I’m done.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Good.”
That irritates me. “You wanted me to stop?”
“I wanted you to choose stopping before I had to make you.”
I bare my teeth. “You think you can make me?”
“No.” His mouth curves. “But I think I can annoy you long enough for Aldron to get involved.”
That’s, unfortunately, true.
I leave the cage and grab a towel from the bench. Sweat slicks my chest, and the claw marks from last night have already faded to thin red lines. My knuckles are healed beneath the bandage, so I take it off too.
Cruz steps out of the cage behind me.
“Krishka’s waiting,” I say.
“For what?”
“Our charming company in Red Hook,” I reply.
“No.”
“There it is.” I sigh. “You know I’m going with you, right?”
“You heard Aldron. Krishka and I go. Quiet questions. No pressure.”
“I can be quiet.”
Cruz looks at the cracked support beam near the far wall. The one I broke two months ago during a disagreement with a wendigo.
I glare at him, but he says nothing, and that’s worse.
“I am going,” I repeat.
“Because we need the information to save innocent victims or because Briana wanted to go, and you can’t handle being left out of anything that touches her?”
I throw the towel at him, and he catches it, grinning. “Mature.”
Before I can answer, Aldron’s voice comes from the stairs. “Knox.”
I close my eyes.
Cruz whispers, “You’re in trouble.”
“I heard that,” Aldron says.
Cruz points at me. “He started it.”
Aldron reaches the bottom of the stairs in a black coat that probably costs more than my truck. His pale gaze moves over us, unimpressed.
“Krishka has agreed to let you accompany them,” he says.
Cruz makes a strangled sound. “She has?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘If the bull follows us anyway, I would rather know where his horns are.’”
I like Krishka more than I did five minutes ago.
Aldron looks at me. “You won’t threaten Moira.”
“No promises.”
His eyes sharpen. “Knox.”
I force my jaw to relax. “Fine.”
“You won’t break anything in her shop.”
“If she gives us answers.”
“You won’t break anything even if she doesn’t.”
I say nothing. Aldron stares until I give in with an exhale. “Fine.”
“You won’t mention Briana by name unless necessary.”
My beast growls.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because Moira trades in names. Fear attached to a name has weight. Briana already carries enough.”
I fucking hate banshees. I have not even met this one yet, and I already hate her.
“Fine,” I say again.
Aldron studies me. “You aren’t going because I trust your control.”
“I know.”
“You are going because if I keep you here, you will tear yourself apart imagining every worst possibility.”
That’s also unfortunately true.
Cruz whistles. “Old man knows you well.”
Aldron’s gaze flicks to him. “I know you, too, Cruz. Don’t flirt with the banshee.”
Cruz presses a hand to his chest. “I am wounded.”
“Not yet,” Aldron says.
Krishka waits near the back exit, looking like midnight wrapped in wool. Her gold-threaded braids fall over one shoulder, and her dark eyes take in my face and my hands.
“Are we bringing him leashed?” she asks.
Cruz grins. “He bites through them.”
“I am standing right here.”
“Yes,” Krishka says. “That’s the problem.”
I decide I like her less.
We leave through the alley behind The Gin Room. Morning has burned into afternoon, but the city still feels damp from this morning’s rain. Brooklyn smells like wet concrete, car exhaust, old brick, and too many people pretending they aren’t lost.
Krishka drives because she says none of us is emotionally stable enough to handle traffic, and she is not wrong.
Cruz takes the passenger seat because he enjoys irritating witches and wants access to the radio. I sit in the back, knees cramped, jaw clenched, watching buildings slide by the window.
Red Hook waits at the edge of the water, all warehouses, old brick, and secrets buried under salt air. The curiosity shop sits between a closed tattoo parlor and a bakery that smells too sweet to be innocent.
The sign above the door reads Vale & Bone.
Subtle. I roll my eyes as Cruz looks up at it. “Charming.”
Krishka adjusts one of the gold rings on her finger. “Let me speak first.”
“Gladly,” Cruz says.
She looks at me, and I stare back.
“Knox.”
“I heard you.”
“That’s not the same as agreeing,” she points out.
“I won’t threaten her.”
“Or loom,” she adds for good measure.
“I don’t loom. I stand,” I huff.
“You stand threateningly.”
“That’s my face.”
Cruz coughs into his fist. “Accurate.”
Krishka mutters something in a language I don’t know and opens the door. A bell chimes above us, but the sound is wrong. Too clear. Too sharp. It slides under my skin and scrapes bone.
Shelves crowd the narrow shop, packed with jars of teeth, dried herbs, cracked porcelain dolls, old books, silver mirrors, black candles, and things that still pulse softly though they have no visible heart.
The air tastes like dust and grief.
My beast doesn’t like it, and neither do I.
Behind the counter stands a woman in a red dress. Moira Vale looks human at first glance. Pale skin. Black hair cut blunt at her chin. Red mouth. Slender fingers resting on the glass counter.
Then she smiles, and every light in the shop flickers.
“Krishka,” she says. Her voice is beautiful, that’s how I know it’s dangerous.
“Moira.”
“And you brought bulls.” Moira’s dark eyes move to Cruz, then me. “How thoughtful. I was running low on poor decisions.”
Cruz opens his mouth, and Krishka steps on his foot. He closes it instantly.
Moira laughs softly. “Still collecting violent men, I see.”
“Only when they prove useful,” Krishka says.
The banshee’s gaze drifts to me. It lingers on where the bandage was around my hand. Her nostrils flare, and my beast goes still.
“Well,” she murmurs. “That’s interesting.”
I take one step forward. Krishka’s hand snaps out, catching my wrist, not stopping me, reminding me.
No threats.
No breaking.
No names.
I force myself still.
Moira’s smile widens. “So much fury in one body. It must be exhausting.”
“You have no idea,” Cruz mutters.
The banshee ignores him. Her eyes remain on me. “And beneath it, fear. Not for yourself. No. Men like you rarely fear death. You fear doors. Locked rooms. Teeth near pale skin.”
The shop goes silent, and my vision darkens.
Krishka’s grip tightens. “Careful,” she says, low enough for only me to hear.
There’s that word again. This time, I obey it. Barely.
Moira tilts her head. “Ah. There she is.”
I move before thought. Cruz catches me around the chest from behind, and Krishka slams a palm against my sternum. Magic punches through me, cold and binding. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold.
Glass rattles on every shelf, but Moira doesn’t flinch.
“Don’t reach for what is not offered, banshee,” Krishka says.
Moira’s expression shifts for the first time. Irritation, sharp and quick. “Then keep his fear out of my shop.”
I breathe hard through my nose. My skin feels too tight. My horns press beneath the surface.
Cruz mutters near my ear, “Not here, brother.”
I think of Briana in Aldron’s office.