The Wulf Chronicles
by Wulf Francu Godgluck
Cover Artist: Kellie Dennis
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.
I finally sighed, and flared my nostrils, not really ready to face him.
I knew he was here, his smell had teased my nose with its invisible fingers the moment I had turned and walked up the street. A sob spilled from me when his warm hand grabbed my right palm, gently weaving his fingers between mine. Our bodies touched as he pressed his pecs to my shoulder blades. His lips stroked the back of my neck, his grip on my right hand tightened when he curled his left arm around my stomach and pulled me securely against him.
I tasted the sunlight still whispering on his skin as I drew in his heady scent. He was warm against me, comforting.
“I’m sorry, little Jelly Bean.” His words spilled against my skin, the hairs on my neck tingled, standing to attention from his lips brushing over my flesh.
“You’ve been here the entire day?”
“I needed to see you, couldn’t stay away knowing you are hurting. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say, but, right now, I can be here for you.”
He released me, swung me around to face him and grabbed a fistful of my hair to hold my head steady. In a blink of an instance, before I could say anything else, Jack took my mouth hard.
My sobs melted against his lips, into his kiss, and I could do nothing about my heart’s fearless rumble as he took me deeper.
He pulled away, but I seized the lapels of his letterman, drawing him back against me. We fell, stumbling from my hasty action, onto the lawn, Jack on top of me, letting out a grunt. I attacked his neck—his mouth too far away to reach—nipped and licked, sucked and kissed any part of his salty skin I could. I needed to feel something, anything other than the tempest of confusion and titanic hurt rumbling like a catastrophic supernova inside me.
“You’re a demanding, little wild one.” His tone was light, laced with a smile I couldn’t see.
He raked his fingers roughly through my locks, hushing my frantic assault on his throat. Instead, I licked up, swiping my tongue along his skin, making Jack’s Adam’s apple bounce in a swallow, caressing the underside of his jaw till I reached his stubbled chin and gently bit down.
Jack hummed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me, about what you are?” His chest reverberated, the vibration whirred into me. I immediately let go.
“The glowing eyes, the growling, those sharp chompers of yours. The fact that I couldn’t move against your strength?” He rolled off me.
I pushed up to sit on my ass, bending my knees, and resting my forearms on my knee caps as I clasped my hands. “What are we doing, Jack?” Had my canines come out when I had kissed him that Saturday afternoon? Was I so lost in his taste that I didn’t even realize, and how could he, a human, draw out my wolf, when I had struggled so long just to bring forth a thread of its existence?
“Avoiding the questions? Fine.” He tugged at some grass, tossing the blades in the air. “I don’t honestly know.” He sighed. “You were the one who kissed me first.”
I bit my tongue, too scared to give him the honest reason why I’d kiss him. I didn’t understand why it even mattered, why me hurting Jack was such a big deal? Why my heart fucking pounded so hard against breastbone, just at the idea that my words could sting him?
“I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss,” he whispered in my ear, heat roaring along my nerves at his hot breath upon my skin. “The way you taste, the way your mouth feels against mine…” He leaned away, a hard, heavy exhale rushed from his lips. He sounded defeated. Vulnerable. “How badly I wanna hold you tight, keep you safe, never let you go.”
Jack wanted me. Holy shit, he really wanted me?
I turned to him. “Jack, I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.”
He blinked, an angry aggrieved expression slipped over his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He stared out in front of him, balled his fists, knuckles popping, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll go. I won’t bother you again.” He pushed to his feet and turned to leave.
I grabbed his hand, stopping him. His palm was sweaty. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to try.”
“Okay.” He was nodding again. “I still think I should go.” He pulled from my hold.
“I’m not letting you go.” I growled, pushing to my feet, using the momentum of him trying to slip free from my grasp, to help me up. “Please stay. I don’t think I can go in there,” I pointed to the house, “alone.”
About the Author
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?
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