You Bet Your Banshee (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 32,728
3 Ratings (4.0)

[Siren Allure: Erotic Fantasy Romance, faeries, spanking, HEA]

What’s a banshee to do when she’s sentenced to death because of her inability to cry? Move to Earth and become a stripper, of course. For ten years, Magda O’Quinn has lived on Earth, supporting herself with her butt-shaking skills and hiding from the banshee queen who wants her dead, before she discovers people are hunting her who won't stop until she's back in Fairworld. The first to find her is hunky Halfling Ryvan Keller, an agent of the fairy queen. The attraction Magda feels for him is panty-wetting to be sure, but there’s no way she'll give in to her attraction and meekly follow him back into the hell of Fairworld. She’ll have to battle extreme lust for a sexy Halfling, fall in love, and defeat an evil queen before she can get back to the business of having a life again.

A Siren Erotic Romance

You Bet Your Banshee (MF)
3 Ratings (4.0)

You Bet Your Banshee (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 32,728
3 Ratings (4.0)
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Cover Art by Harris Channing



I cleared my throat. “My name is Magda. I’m a banshee.”

They murmured, “Hi, Magda,” back at me, the two newbies keeping mum. I squinted at them. One was a vampire. He was easy to label with his eerie pink eyes. The other I wasn’t too sure about, though he looked a little familiar. He was a halfling of some kind and his dark eyes watched me with way too much attention. I shrugged it off. Chances were he’d seen me at my day job.

I knew what newbies to the group thought when they saw me. They took note of the platinum blonde hair which could have been dyed, but wasn’t. I’d tried coloring it a few times, but my hair grows so damn fast, all I seemed to do was piss money away. They stared at my eyes, the lavender irises that marked me as a banshee. Not that my peepers did me any good.

Ugh, gut clench time. I geared myself to admit my shame to a roomful of people.

 “I can’t cry,” I confessed to the crowd. I saw several nods, a couple of understanding smiles, and the blank look of shock from the vampire. I wasn’t sure what the halfling thought because his face was so deeply shadowed, but it was probably the same look of astonishment as the vampire wore.

Yeah, I was a freak because banshees are supposed to cry. Hell, we were known for crying. “I’ve had every test known to Fairworld, been exposed to every torture known to human and Fairworlder, yet I can’t produce tears.” This was the hardest part. My stomach twisted on me, trying to keep the words in, but they had to come out, I had to purge myself of the pain. “Because of my…mutation,” it seemed a kind enough word, “I can’t be a functioning member of banshee society. I can’t contribute anything to the court. I was a burden and a shame to my family. I came Earthside ten years ago when I realized my queen wanted me dead.”

That was an understatement. For all of our advancements in technology and magic, Fairworlders were like any animal in Fairworld or on Earth: they wanted to destroy the weakest link. I’d nearly been torn apart by my people before I managed to get away from them. I might be defective, but I have a will to survive. I hadn’t been back to Fairworld, and I doubted I ever would. Those bitches were crazy.

Phineas gave me an encouraging smile. “How have you done since our last meeting, Magda?”

“Um, fine. Things are a lot better now that I no longer fear they’ll come after me.” I twisted my fingers in the loose folds of my skirt. “I have a steady job now”—stripping at Spankalicious, but they didn’t need to know that—“and I finally sleep more than two hours at a time.” When I drink myself into a stupor, I added mentally.

“Have you made contact with your family to let them know you’re okay?” Phineas’s young-old face studied me with compassion. He was a wood elf, very old, very wise, and he understood being a freak since he was allergic to plants.

I shook my head, my heart slamming. “No. I’m not ready for that.” I’d never be ready for that. My own grandmother had handed me over to the banshee queen for “training” when I was a child, and that bitch hated me.

“You need closure with your tribe, Magda,” Phineas said in his calm, collected voice. He’d been at this support group a lot longer than I had. He no longer got ruffled. His oak-colored face creased into a charming smile. “Your family needs to understand they no longer have a hold on you, or you’ll always live in fear of them.” I nodded because it was true. He smiled again. “Next month I want to hear that you’ve at least called them, okay?”




Ryvan grabbed the first available booth and yanked the curtain closed behind us. He let go of my wrist, turning on me so quickly I almost backed out of the booth.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said with a growl, his big hands grabbing my shoulders. He gave me a little shake, leaning down to get in my face. “What the fuck are you doing in a place like this?”

The heat of his breath washed over my skin, bringing back the unbearable pleasure I’d felt on stage. My body flushed with arousal, my nether lips swelling and growing slick all over again.


Without warning, he yanked me up against him, one of his hands cupping the back of my head to tilt my face toward him. His full lips were just as soft as I’d imagined, but his mouth was hotter than the fires of hell could ever hope to be. He devoured me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth over and over in a perfect mimicry of what I wanted him to do much lower. I should’ve broken away, but damn, I was still on fire from my climax, needing more. My tongue danced with his, flicking over his fangs, the roof of his mouth.

I’d never been kissed with so much intensity, as though my mouth held the key to everything he needed. He tasted like apples and chocolate, a decadent combination I knew I’d dream about the rest of my life—however long it’d be. He was hard and solid against me, a wall of muscle and heat and strength. I clung to his shoulders, letting my fingernails dig into the expensive leather of his jacket. I whimpered a little. I moaned a lot. I rubbed against him like a cat in heat, trying to get the hard length of the cock pressing against my belly where I wanted it, right between my legs.

His hands, great big mitts of hands, flowed over the skin bared by my bra and skirt. His touch was gentle, light, teasing. My body produced more moisture, seeping down my passage to my thighs. He reached the globes of my ass, filling his palms with them before lifting me clean off my feet.

Startled, I broke our kiss, my legs wrapping around his hips reflexively. I gasped loudly at the feel of his cock pressing against me, rubbing in just…the right…spot. My eyes fluttered closed as I writhed against him, unable to help myself.

“Magda,” he murmured in a hypnotically seductive voice. “My Magda.”

His big hands guided my hips in a better rhythm, fucking me against him in an adolescent dry hump I hadn’t done even when I was an adolescent. I’d been an idiot because this felt better than all the full-on sex I’d had as a late teen and young adult. He was hard behind the fly of his jeans, and he knew what to do with his body, circling here, rubbing there, and thrusting against me. He knew where my clit was and made sure his jean-covered cock made contact over and over again.

I was making a lot of noise. I couldn’t help myself. This was better than what happened on the stage. This was the best sex of my life, and he wasn’t even inside me. I was going to come again and soak the front of his pants. Everyone who saw him would either think he wet himself, or he’d just humped a very wet, sticky woman.

Part of my brain, the rational part, told me this was wrong. That this wasn’t natural. The shameless hussy who occupied the other half of my body pushed Ms. Prude out of the way and angled my hips until he butt up against my clit harder.


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