Wulf Francu Godgluck
I am an enthusiastic member of the M/M Romance group on Goodreads. If you are too, you know their moderators work really hard every year to host an event that includes a collection of free M/M short stories, novellas and novels written by authors/members of it. Being in love with the group and the M/M world, I try to read most of these stories each time. Last year one I picked was Of Gods and Monsters: Menoetius by a new to me author called Wulf Francu Godgluck (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23110843-of-gods-and-monsters?ac=1) and it pretty much was love at first reading.
I admit he writes what I usually don’t read; in general I need my books to be sickening sweet and pure romance and it’s totally not Wulf’s style. Still I loved his stories (and I like adding a big FOR NOW cause I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill him about his WIP works LOL). Okay the language is really not so clean, in some parts a little much too hard, a little much too dirty, I can understand it’s not for everyone but I’m all for it.
Of Gods and Monsters: Menoetius is the story of Colt and Beo. Apart from the plot that pushes a lot of buttons (BDSM, alpha man, sweet sub), what caught me from the start was the writing and the fact that it was able to make me emotional, not easy because of the asshole MC. But the thing that wins me over was the idea that love can make us better. Seeing Colt change himself into a better man was really beautiful. I’m pretty sure this story could be perfect for anyone who wants to dive into Wulf’s crazy world for the first time. And it’s free. Be ready for the next installment in the Of Gods And Monsters series, Hades, coming in July 2015. I’m not sure if it’s going to be a M/M/M or a love triangle story but I can’t wait!
Then if you are looking for something really different, you absolutely need to try the A Tooth Claw and Horns Chronicle series. It’s made of short episodes and I can tell you each one will leave you hungry for more and angry at Wulf, but the pain is so worth it. This series is dark, mysterious and well balanced, there is a solid plot and well defined characters (surprisingly, see the few pages each episode has). Most of all it’s original. I can anticipate the next episode will be so much more in every way, taboos and cliffhanger are assured. Stay tuned for late summer.
As I hope you understood reading my thoughts, Wulf Francu Godgluck has a crazy world in his mind, he spaces from contemporary to paranormal, from BDSM to vampires. Last one he worked on was a sci fi story called ACID for the new M/M romance group’s event. I read some sneak peaks (here https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/2232381-dear-author-free-dreamer—claimed-by-wulf-francu-godgluck?page=1) and I’m really curious. It is unique and darker but so unbelievably interesting.
Last thing. If you are going to check out these books be aware that the cover artist is the same Wulf and I find them different from the usual ones I see everywhere and perfect for his writing style. I can’t recommend this author enough.
About author Wulf Francu Godgluck
They come to me in the night, creeping into my head. Their voices are all different, their stories all dissimilar, but they keep saying the same thing…
“Show us, tell us to the world. Bring us into yours, and make us known.”
Then I sit and they take over. They tell their tales of love, loss and sinister misfortune, not all of them get a happy ending, but they are pleased when their part is written.
I sometimes find myself lost in my own mind; a world very similar to our own yet so different. Things don’t go bump in the night—they squeal, and crawl under your skin, making you grind your teeth, and your stomach turn over and put your nerves on edge. Then there’s the drama. Oh, the drama!
I write because I must! There is so much inside of me that needs to get out. So many stories to tell, characters that want to be heard, and hearts lost and won. Words and art are my way of bringing my world to others. I enjoy telling tales of the human condition but working in elements of the supernatural. Werewolves, Vampires, Zombies, Witches and the unexplainable all set against the human world or worlds of their own.
I was born and raised in Cape Town, South Africa, grew up in a working class family and enjoy writing, cooking and spending my husband’s money! Yeah I’m a cocky little brat too 🙂 (and proud of it, spankings included.)
Where to find him
Goodreads Author Page
Facebook Author Page
Website
Books and links to Stella’s Reviews:
A SNIPPET FROM Of Gods and Monsters: Hades
COMING ON JULY 2015
It was the day Kemono returned from a five week mission in Russia that his father tested him. Twenty years of age when he stood before the snake. Kemono’s only friend, Mamoru, stood beside him, their gaze trained on the wall.
His father ordered him to kill Mamoru.
Blood had still dripped from his trembling hands while his father smiled, bitter pride in his eyes. “There’s the monster I spawned.” Kemono just stood, jaw ticking, locked tight, and balled his fists. Mamoru’s blood sticky and still warm as it pussed from between his fingers. His friend lying next to him, choking as gore pooled from his throat where Kemono had sliced it.
Kemono stood there feeling nothing. Nothing for his friend of fifteen years, a man and boy he had been intimate with on far too many nights, a friend he knew was in love with him. Nothing when Mamoru’s body was dragged out of the room to be disposed of. Nothing for the mother and sister left without a son and a brother to provide for them. Nothing, knowing they would starve. Nothing. He had felt it for so long now.
Only when he walked out of the washitsu, stepped down the hall to wash his hands and come back out, did he feel something.
Anger. Pain. Worry. Fury.
He flared his nostrils, squinting his eyes. Tremors ringing up his body, his muscles pulsing, going taut at the same time.
His frame vibrated violently in rage.
His Shuiro’s soft sobs was a hand against his throat choking him, slowly ripping him apart inside. The boy rested against one of the pillars, his back damp as the material stuck to his bony skin. Kemono had looked at the sky briefly, noting the sun’s position, confirming the time of day, late afternoon as sunlight played, making the blue sky sing with purple, pinks and shades of gold. It was usually around this time his Shuiro came from training with his sensei, a kind man, but he was known for pushing his students hard.
But it was the slump to his Shuiro’s shoulders that was unpleasing to Kemono’s sight.
His heart had clenched, pain shooting in his chest when his Shuiro collapsed against the pillar, sliding against it to the floor. The boy’s chest heaving, lips parted and eyes closed.
Kemono hated to see the boy and not be able to see those dancing eyes.
He stomped towards him, furious that his steps didn’t invoke the reaction he wanted.
His Shuiro should have been up, alert with his gaze down to the floor, pressing himself against the pillar to appear smaller than he was, to somehow make his presence disappear. Rex always did that when he and Kemono’s paths crossed in the temple. It was that form of submissioned respect he cherished in the boy. The shyness and innocent the boy possessed that had speared and claimed Kemono’s heart.
He knelt before his Shuiro, his hands numb, not knowing what to do with them.
“Kemono-san,” his Shuiro had whimpered. It was the second word he had spoken to Kemono, and the first time the boy had said his name. His venomous name, coming from innocent lips. Not just Kemono, but Kemono-san. It did things inside, ruptures and tears and rips and—
Warm clammy hands had touched his cheeks. He snapped his gaze to his Shuiro’s, and the boy smiled, a smile that didn’t melt the ice around Kemono’s dead heart, but seared it into vapors of steam. His heart pounded hard against his ribs. Loud in his ears. It hurt inside. Raw. Bleeding. It had hurt so very much.
His fingers had shook as he inspected the cut on his boy’s bottom lip, gently brushing his thumb over the bloodied bruise. Small arms were wrapped around his neck, a wet cheek pressed against his hairy chest in the gap of his yukata while weak words spilled from his Shuiro’s lips.
“I missed you.”
Kemono just breathed, sucked in the smell of his Shuiro while his heart was bleeding, screaming, crying. The embrace was too much, the words a brutal scar to his heart.
Soft lips pressing against his.
And Kemono trembled.
He quaked.
His big hands on the boy’s small shoulder holding him painfully tight, and he knew it was wrong, volitional and blasphemous, destroying innocence like this, but it was the first human touch he had ever been given.
Kemono had opened for him, allowed his Shuiro to taste him. And Kemono had tasted back. He kissed him so hard that he tasted his Shuiro’s life. He savored that purity, the freedom to cry, to laugh, to stumble and fall, to be weak…to be human.
He carved that into his very soul, his very heart and, in that kiss, he willed a silent promise: Someday I will take care of you, my innocent Shuiro.
The slam of a cane against wood floors had made Kemono roar into those soft lips, sending his sutoroberī to scurry away from him.
His father had found them.
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