Banshee Moon Nude Novels & Stories

“I know you might be wondering what Banshee is! So, A banshee is a female spirit in Irish folklore that heralds the death of a family member, usually by wailing, shrieking, or keening. Sometimes she has long streaming hair and wears a gray cloak over a green dress, and her eyes are red from continual weeping. She may be dressed in white with red hair and a ghastly complexion. The size of the banshee is another physical feature that differs between regional accounts. Though some accounts of her standing unnaturally tall are recorded, the majority of tales that describe her height state the banshee's stature as short, anywhere between one foot and four feet. Her exceptional shortness often goe

"Why did she…" "Because of me. Because of what I did to you." My stomach dropped. "What you did to me?" He stood. Paced. Ran a hand through his hair. For the first time since I'd known him, Lucien Blackwood looked uncertain. "The night you came here. The full moon. I wasn't in control. My wolf was too close to the surface and you…" He stopped. "You calmed something I've never been able to control. And when we were together, something happened that I didn't intend."

The Moon Festival was never meant for people like me. All around the clearing, wolves danced and laughed, their faces painted with silver crescents, clothes glowing with threads woven under moonlight. Lanterns floated overhead, their warm gold light casting shifting shadows on the stones below. The ancient pines swayed, whispering old prayers to the Moon Goddess. I stood at the edge of it all, half-hidden beneath the gnarled limbs of a hollow pine. My hands were clenched inside the sleeves of my simple robe—undyed, unadorned. I wasn’t dressed to be seen.

Her naked body has a way of making me release my frustration, my exhaustion, my irritation. I had investigated Nina too… and it seems like she might not have been directly involved in Jaxon’s attempt to molest Zevara, but she isn’t totally innocent either. It’s the full moon tonight… and during full moons, werewolves are always hypersensitive. My body yearns for a cunt. Not just any cunt… but hers. I could see she was in heat the moment she stepped into her room and started touching herself—because I was watching everything from the cameras in her room.

I’ll deal with him later. Now, she’s mine. Slowly, I peel off my jeans. Slip under the blanket. Her skin is warm against mine. She stirs, her body unconsciously rolling into me. My breath catches. Her hair brushes my face, smells like fruit and innocence. Under the moonlight, I can see her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. My cock responds, thick and ready. I slide my fingers beneath the blanket, over her thigh. Soft, satin smooth. Suddenly, she stirs again. This time, her eyes snap open. Wide. Innocent. Then confused.

Zena never does things by half. "Fuck...." escaped me once more at the sight of her. Her leggings wriggled down and off, kicked towards the back end of the boat where the rucksack offered some leverage to the dangerous tilt we already had created. She shrugged the straps of her vest down her arms, still bobbing her head up and down as she slowly transformed into a naked siren before my eyes. The glowing moon never suited anyone better. Her eyes like the stars themselves, looking up at me as she slowly started to touch herself. The scent of her arousal hit me and made me groan all over again.

“What’s going on?” Shit. I hope she’s coming, but wouldn’t she know? Females aren’t supposed to touch themselves, but they sure do in the videos from Moon Lake and in the barn shows after the full-moon runs.

The full moon rose fat and heavy over the treetops, its silver light bathing the clearing in ghostfire. Selene stood at the center, naked, her skin gleaming pale gold under its glow. Her wolf prowled restless beneath her flesh, howling to be freed, to take. Behind her, the Betas emerged from shadow.

“Please.” A figure stepped from the shadows at the edge of her vision. Not the serene woman in silver. Not Selene’s gaunt imitation. This version of the Moon wore no gown. She was tall, barefoot, hair unbound, eyes bright and feverish. Her skin shone as if lit from within—too bright, cracked in places like dry riverbeds with light seeping through. The sight of Her made Luna’s teeth ache. This was the divine pushed to an edge.