Being the pack mule for an adventuring party isn’t a calling, it’s the only thing keeping me out of the gutter.
I carry their gear. Clean their blades. Swallow their insults.
Until their “initiation ritual” ends with a trapdoor and a long, screaming fall into the most feared dungeon in the realm. That’s when I see his burning eyes light up like he’s been waiting for me.
Krin. An ancient dragon and lord of the dungeon.
He doesn’t see prey when he looks at me. He sees his mate. His new treasure.
And he’ll burn the world down to protect me. But only once he’s done claiming me as his own.
instalove, fated mates, forced proximity, high fantasy, higher heat, and twin appendages that will make you pant.
Willy Stroker doesn’t just toe the line—he straddles it, growls something sinful in its ear, and writes 80,000 words about what happens when a “straight” man meets a monster in the woods.
His gay paranormal romance is dripping with clueless men, seductive creatures, and enough heat to steam up your Kindle and fog your glasses. Werewolves, demons, ancient gods, and tentacled strangers from beyond the veil? If they’ve got fangs, claws, or a mysteriously long tongue, they’ve probably starred in one of Willy’s books.
Equal parts smut peddler and cryptid matchmaker, Willy believes every “I’m not into monsters, but…” deserves a happily-ever-after—and probably a mating bite or two. When he’s not writing, he’s Googling “where does Bigfoot’s hot dad live” or taking suspiciously long walks in the forest for research.
Warning: Reading his books may result in monster cravings, gay awakenings, and a sudden desire to check under your bed—with hope.
I wanted to give this book five star as it began, then at the halfway point, the sex scene just was the same as the other three books that preceeded this one. It is like the story just stops and the last 50% of the story is rehash with a slightly different body part replacing the previous monster's anatomy. Same lines. same words, boring. Three stars is for the imaginative beginning.