Hi guys, we have Wulf Francu Godgluck stopping by today with the tour for The Wulf Chronicles, we have a fantastic character interview, a great excerpt and a brilliant giveaway where 2 lucky winners will get their own copies of The Wulf Chronicles, so guys, check out the post and enter the giveaway!❤ ~Pixie~
The Wulf Chronicles
Wulf Franco Godgluck
What if werewolves were real?
What if one of them was different?
What if you were a defective werewolf?
This is not the story of how one night I got bitten and my life changed. Nor is it the story of how I went on a savage killing spree that left me tormented with guilt and dread the next morning.
This is the story of a boy, a boy who’s spent his life running from the shadows of monsters. A boy who never understood why the world hated him with so much odium. Why his mother would throw away her only life to protect his. Why he was never allowed to have friends. Why he never had the childhood every child should. Why he was never allowed to cherish happiness.
This is the story of a boy becoming himself, embracing his vulnerability and learning to accept and love.
This is a story about a werewolf, trying to find the answers to why he was born defective.
And maybe that’s the very reason I become the main course on the menu.
Wulf Franco Godgluck
So often, when doing interview questions with fictional characters we tend to focus on the heroes or the MC, I wanted to talk today with the Primera, aka Mr. Gray, the entity that plays a somewhat antagonist in The Wulf Chronicles.
Are you an optimist, a realist, or a pessimist?
What an unfair question to ask, how extremely arrogant of you. No one can be one of these things, nor can one equally be all three of these things at the same time. We are all a little percentage of each, sometimes leaning more to one than any of the others which comes to, your question will depend on a situation.
If I would say that I am positive about something and yet question the “what ifs”—what if things don’t go as planned—am I then a pessimist? Or a realist?
I’m question things to be logical, but therein I have to shine light on the worst possible outcome, but by knowing the worst possible outcome, first, it’s me being realistic and mentally preparing myself for exactly that, and yet at the same time I’m hoping and trying to stay focused that it’s not that.
Now that this question has become its own paradox, next.
What exactly are you?
Ancient, forgotten, primordial, I have many names and had many before those and even ones I have forgotten, I have seen dimensions bleed and crumble, planes shutter due to the weight of time and yet I was undone by a mere boy. A boy!
A god maybe, or something even older than that, but never older than Death. I have seen unspeakable things even for me, but it seems I am avoiding the question, It not that I do not wish to tell you what I am, it is only that I knew not truly what I am. Humans has such a fickle sentiment of wanting to label something, to give it origins and thereby meaning and purpose. Evil I was labeled a monster, a demon, yet all I merely wanted was to exist, to live.
While you slaughter your life stock for sustenance in horrible manners, while you treat others of your kind with unspeakable cruelty, you dare have the audacity to call me evil, because of how I look what I do to sustain my own life force. How does that make more, or less evil than your kind?
You have lived within our dimension for nearly our entire existence, is there something more ancient than you out there? More powerful than you, more evil?
These are three different things that are so far contrasted from each other as they are similar.
The ancient of ancients exist within all dimensions, all planes, all timelines and all alternate universes.
Life and Death is eternal, it is constant, it is the ultimate equilibrium.
The most powerful force I have come across in your dimension and countless others is also the most devastatingly destructive and the most evil.
Love, it has mend as many hearts and lives, overcome as many adversities and struggles as it has initiated wars and death, deceit and lies. It is the ultimate killer, the supreme assassin, silent, deadly and beautifully curious at the same time. Love is the breath you need laced with the very venom you fear. It has undone kings and queens, nobility and slave, beggars and gods and even monsters
Love is as kind as it is cruel, as soft as it is hard, it is the ultimate contradiction, the most truthful paradox, so easily explained yet so difficult to understand.
No matter how far one runs, love is always behind, as it is always a step ahead.
You are making my brain hurt! So here’s ten rapid fire questions.
If you could buy any type of food (right now) what would you buy?
Who do you admire the most?
What is one thing that annoys you the most?
What is the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?
What is the thing you’re most afraid of?
What is the most delightful word you can think of?
Where were you born?
In a hell dimension, five million times older than yours.
What secret would you like to tell me?
You simplistic mind cannot fathom the secrets I can tell.
What impresses you?
Primera do not copulate, we Primera remove parts of ourselves, then join them onto other parts of other Primera to create new ones.
One reader asked why you picked Michael as your target, or should I say next meal? And what is your endgame? Will you continue to kill or is Michael the means for you to gain your former form?
Coming across anomalies are not easy, they are extremely rare, they vibrate on a frequency beyond the physical plane, they vibrate to the same frequency I do. Once I find my pray I will stalk them, I’ve been watching the boy for months. Fear is my venom, administered slowly in little doses. But I never anticipated for my prey to have built up an immunity to fear… or did I?
As for the end game… that remains to be seen, are we both catalysis of our own doing? We are both dangling on the verge of a cataclysm, spiraling towards endless possibilities of death and life but who survives, only time can tell.
A lycan’s sexual orientation was a completely nonproblematic topic. Most lycans, before meeting and knowing the gender of their mates, tended to be bisexual, however, there were the few cases, as with Leo, where a lycan knew beforehand what gender they were drawn to. And, luckily, the mating call was never cruel in that regard.
Contrary to how prejudice and discriminatory the Council and lycan community’s views on females were, homosexuality had never fazed the lycan race. It was part of their ancestry, as natural and accepting as bleeding.
“Go,”she growled at him, “before you shatter my stoic façade and have me in tears. I’m honored to know this beautiful thing is happening in my presence.”
Leo smiled, turned, and ascended the stairs, his grin fading as he neared the bathroom the Beta occupied.
He clutched the doorknob, squeezing his eyelids and drawing in a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down.
The knob ripped from under Leo’s grasp as the door swung open, the momentum of Cooler’s movements and of Leo’s stumble at the abrupt occurrence, sent them colliding into each other.
Cooler grabbed Leo by the throat and shoved him against the bathroom wall, his one eye glowing a furious blue fire as he glared up at him.
“If the pretty puppy wanted a kiss, all he had to do was whimper.”
Leo swallowed against the clutched grip squeezing his windpipe, any response stuck in his throat. Cooler leaned in close, released Leo’s neck, and cupped the back of his head, pulling him down before sealing their lips together.
Fire screamed through him, heat gnawed to the tips of Leo’s fingertips and toes as Cooler wrenched open Leo’s lips with nip of his teeth, shoving his fat tongue into Leo’s mouth…
No one said a lycan claiming his mate was a pretty event.
The kiss that followed was a soft and gentle devastation of sweet hunger.
Cooler’s lips were pure lightning against Leo’s, every hair on his body pulsated to attention. His growl simmered through their mouths, giving Leo ample knowledge of how much power resided within his mate, the vibration, a thunder, rattled him to his soul.
He didn’t dare touch Cooler. Just because they were sucking lips, didn’t mean the Beta had accepted Leo as his.
Cooler pulled back, his eye a bone-chilling dark as he glared up into Leo’s gaze.
Fat fingers slid from behind Leo’s neck, mapping their way along his cheek to brush over his lips, only to catch him by the chin.
Leo closed his eyes, both needing and dreading the words about to spill from his mate.
But time stretched, and it stretched, and it stretched as he waited.
His lips moved involuntarily, quivering, ready to speak, but only a whimper undulated through him. Cooler grunted, halting Leo’s tongue and washing hot air up into Leo’s face, reminding him of how close the Beta’s lips were to his own.
His insides squirmed, anticipating, hoping and wanting Cooler to bless him with another taste.
No kiss came, no words either. Only the scent of his mate. A spicy, intoxicating, rugged musk. Prime Bloods tended to have a heavier, far more domineering scent than half-breeds. That and, of course, the raw power they emanated were the only physical truths that set them apart.
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.
Wulf Francú Godgluck hails from South Africa. His work is not for the faint-hearted! In his books, you’ll find… all the beasties with their nasty claws and teeth, and some you didn’t even know existed. But the monsters aren’t all real. Some live inside us. Who knows what he will make you discover about yourself, lurking in your heart, behind the closed walls of the deep, black recesses where no light penetrates? Wulf will steal your heart and never give it back. More than likely, he’ll pin it to the wall with a bobby pin and sit there sipping his tea while you writhe and squeal on the floor… STILL sure you want to read a Wulf Godgluck book?