How Not To Abduct a Banshee

Episode 7

Caelin’s head throbbed, each pulse sending a sharp stab of pain behind her eyes. The crash had left her disoriented, her ears ringing so loudly that she could barely think, but she forced the pain to the back of her mind. She didn’t have the luxury of time to recover—Samuel was in danger. The air around her felt heavy with malice, practically vibrating with the intent of the men approaching the vehicle. Whoever they were, they weren’t just here to settle a score. They wanted Samuel, and they didn’t care what they had to do to take him.

Her fury built like a storm about to break. The ringing in her head didn’t subside—it intensified, a symphony of anger and panic that made it hard to breathe. But it wasn’t the crash that was doing this to her. It was them. It was the threat they posed to Samuel.

Her heart pounded, a deep, unfamiliar ache rising though her entire being. It wasn’t fear for herself; it was for him. The thought of them dragging Samuel away, of Mitch or anyone else hurting him, made her vision blur with rage. Her thoughts swirled chaotically, yet one thing became blindingly clear: they weren’t going to hurt him. She wouldn’t let them. Not a single hair on Samuel’s head would be touched. Her instincts screamed for control, to rein in the storm building inside her, but it was no use.

Samuel looked fragile, his unconscious body slumped awkwardly on the door frame. A thin line of blood trickled from his temple, pooling on his shirt. The sight of it sent a fresh surge of unexplainable fury coursing through Caelin. Except, it was more than fury. It was something deeper, older, and entirely foreign to her.

The heat in her chest intensified, and she felt the shift before she realized what was happening. Her vision sharpened, the colors of the night seeming too vivid, too bright. Her nails felt sharper, and her skin prickled with energy. She caught her reflection in the cracked side mirror—the glow of her red eyes, a banshee’s mark, blazing back at her.

She didn’t understand why she felt this way—this fierce, possessive need to protect Samuel. It made no sense. He wasn’t hers. He was an annoyance, a complication in her life that she hadn’t asked for. And yet, the very thought of these men laying their hands on him filled her with a rage so potent it bordered on madness.

Through the haze of pain, she focused on the four figures closing in on them. Two on the driver’s side, two circling to her side of the car. Her heart pounded harder, a strange mix of fury and something unnameable rising in her chest. She shook her head to clear it, immediately regretting the motion as the pain intensified and the ringing in her ears grew louder. The world tilted slightly, her body threatening to betray her, but she forced herself to stay upright.

The car door creaked open, and Samuel’s unconscious body spilled onto the asphalt with a dull thud. Caelin’s breath caught, her chest tightening as a wave of panic clawed its way up her throat. No, no, no. You don’t get to touch him. You don’t get to take him.

The air around Caelin prickled with tension, her banshee instincts roaring to life in a way she hadn’t felt before—not even on her most dangerous assignments.

Her gaze locked onto the leader, a smug brute with a shaved head and a grin that oozed overconfidence. He crouched beside Samuel, nudging his limp body with the toe of his boot. “Mitch wants him alive for now,” he said.

The man’s words scratched at something raw inside her. Her breath quickened, as she glared at the man who dared to touch what was hers—wait. What was hers?

That thought brought her up short, but there was no time to untangle it.

Her fingers twitched as the two closest men leaned down to grab Samual.

“Don’t touch him,” she growled, her voice a low rumble.

The leader straightened, his expression shifting to one of amusement. He looked her over like she was some rare artifact he’d stumbled upon.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His gaze flicked to her eyes, his smirk widening. “A banshee. Mitch’ll love this. Two for one—Samuel and a banshee. Gotta say, sweetheart, you’re way out of your league here.”

Caelin tilted her head, watching him carefully, her glowing eyes unblinking. It took her less than a second to assess the situation.

They knew enough to recognize what she was—but not enough to understand the gravity of it. They thought all banshees were the same, that she was some low-tier novice with little more to offer than a well-placed scream to warn others of danger.

Idiots.

Caelin could’ve laughed if she weren’t so angry. These men didn’t realize there was a hierarchy to banshees, and with it, vastly different power levels. Low-level banshees, untrained and weak, were glorified warning systems at best. But Caelin wasn’t low-level. She wasn’t some frightened fledgling just discovering her voice. She was top-tier—trained, honed, and deadly. Her scream didn’t just carry sound; it carried intent, destruction, and raw power.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” the leader continued, oblivious to the storm brewing before him. “You play nice, and I promise no harm will come to your boy here.”

Her lip curled into the faintest snarl, her voice dropping to a lethal calm. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

The leader chuckled, gesturing toward Samuel’s limp form. “Don’t I? You’re a banshee. Big noise, big drama. I’ve seen your kind before. You’re all bark, no bite.”

Caelin stepped out of the car slowly, her movements deliberate. The two men nearest her took an instinctive step back, their confidence faltering as the glow of her eyes grew brighter.

“You think you’ve seen my kind before?” she asked softly, tilting her head as she studied the leader. “You haven’t. Trust me.”

The leader kept talking, his voice grating against her ears. “Come on out, sweetheart. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.” His grin sharpened as he lazily kicked Samuel's boot. “You cooperate, and I promise he won’t get hurt. Mitch wants him alive, and I’m not one to disappoint the boss.”

Caelin’s eyes narrowed, and she let out a noise—a low, guttural sound that made the other three men shift uncomfortably. It wasn’t a growl, not exactly. It was something deeper, something primal. The men might not have understood it, but their instincts did. She could see it in the way they stiffened, their postures tense and uncertain.

The leader, however, was slower on the uptake. “Look, I get it,” he said, spreading his hands as though he was being reasonable. “You banshees think you’re hot s**t. But all you really do is scream. Big deal. I don’t want to hurt you, princess, but if you don’t step out of that car—”

With a sigh of disdain, Caelin shoved the door open and stepped out, her movements slow and deliberate. “You think I’m some untrained little whelp, don’t you? A warning bell with legs. That’s what you think banshees are, isn’t it?” Her glowing eyes locking onto his with a predatory gleam.

“See? Isn’t this better?” the leader said, his tone dripping with false charm. “You play nice, I play nice. No need for theatrics.”

Theatrics. Caelin’s lips twitched—not into a smile, but something far more dangerous. Her gaze flicked briefly to Samuel, sprawled out and vulnerable. Then she turned her full attention to the man who dared to touch him. “Do you know what happens when a banshee screams?” she asked, her voice calm, almost conversational.

The leader smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Big noise. Makes people uncomfortable. You’re not scaring anyone, sweetheart. What’re you gonna do? Cry us to death?”

“It’s not just noise,” she said softly, “It’s a warning and, right now, you should wonder what it’s a warning of.”

The leader froze, the smirk wavering for the first time. He took a step back, finally noticing her malice. His bravado cracked, though his voice remained steady. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s not get crazy. We’re just here for the siren. No one needs to get hurt—”

" Oh, but there is very much a need," Caelin said just before she screamed.

Her scream tore through the air, raw and unrelenting, a banshee’s wail at its full strength. It wasn’t just noise—it was power, tangible and suffocating, rolling over the men with the force of an unrelenting tidal wave, knocking them to the ground as though an invisible force had slammed into their chests.

The leader clutched his head as he gasped for breath. The other three weren’t faring any better, writhing on the asphalt as the vibration of her scream tore through them. The car groaned under the force, its frame trembling as cracks spiderwebbed across the remaining glass.

Her glowing red eyes never left the leader as she stepped closer, her scream shifting in tone, sharper and more precise. It wasn’t just an attack—it was a declaration. These men had dared to harm Samuel, dared to touch what she was suddenly, fiercely compelled to protect.

The vibration of her scream shattered the remaining glass in the car windows, the shards raining down like tiny crystals. When the sound finally ceased, the silence was deafening. The men lay scattered around her like discarded trash, groaning weakly but alive—barely.

Caelin crouched beside the leader, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t know banshees,” she said, her red eyes glowing with menace. “But now you know me. Tell Mitch if he wants Samuel, he’ll have to come himself. And when he does, I’ll be waiting.”

The leader whimpered, nodding frantically as he scrambled back, his hands still shaking.

Caelin didn’t spare him another glance. She turned back to Samuel, her fury fading as her gaze softened. He looked so vulnerable, his face pale and streaked with blood. The possessive heat in her chest flared again, stronger this time. She didn’t understand it, but she didn’t care.

“You’re lucky I’m stuck with you,” she muttered, crouching to haul him up with far more strength than her slight frame suggested. "Because no one else gets to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”