Ezra Dawn, $2.99, ISBN 978-1370924035
Fantasy Romance, 2017
Wait, so if an alpha had someone bossing over them, what is the boss called? The uber-alpha? Or do we go all the way back to the end and call them a zeta? Hoping to find the answer after seeing the title, I decide to pick up Ezra Dawn’s The Alpha’s Master.
As most folks can guess from the title, this one has furries in it. There are also vampires. We have a Negan here, along with someone called Alistair Volder… er, Vonderheide, and our hero is Joel Miller McKay, so I am getting fifty whiffs of Fanfiction here. When I see someone called Vikan Shade showing up, one thing’s for sure: the author has a handbook of stereotypical edgelord fantasy names that is used for the basis of these characters’ names. That or a list of Tumblr and DeviantArt user ids.
Seriously, Joel’s kid is called Axl. The names here are clearly the unfortunate bastards conceived during a drunken orgy involving the most cringe-blasted stories of Fanfiction and Wattpad.
So, the alpha, Joel, has a wife and a brat, but deep inside he knows that he wants to be yiffed with a bloke. He will stay true to his marriage and kid, however, because he loves the kid and he thinks the kid needs a daddy. What, you’re curious about the wife? Well, he loves her, but not in a true love way and… hello, who cares about an icky woman? Penises are all that matter, so get your priorities right, people.
The master of the alpha is, how predictable, a vampire boss. That’s Alistair, the boss of the vampires in the same neighborhood. He catches a whiff of Joel and knows immediately that the furry is his true mate… wait, vampires do that too? Do all of these supernatural wretches justify their serious hygiene issues as a biological hookup app?
Anyway, Wonderfang will not tell Closet McKay that they are bound peen to poop-bin because he refuses to be a homewrecker.
Oh, the pathos! The dilemma! The thwarted lusts and dramatic tension that filled these pages!
Damascus, the coven chef comes into the room with a cart carrying my afternoon tea and snacks. He’s got his earphones in his ears blaring one of my favorite songs called No Diggity. I love to listen to hip hop and R&B music as well as multiple other genres. Music has been a passion of mine spanning across centuries. Every time something new comes out genre wise I’m the first to listen to it. I’ve even got a room of the house that’s basically a music room and houses every vinyl record created along with CD’s and cassette tapes. The room itself is sound proof so anyone can listen to anything they want without disturbing others.
Damascus sets my tea in front of me and says, “I’ve got a new blend for you to try.”
I take a sip and almost moan out loud. “Damn that’s good. Leave the pot for me.”
Oh, wait.
Then, drama happens. Wonderfang is dying. Oh no, without a daily butt blast of furry goo, he’s going to die.
Luckily, at the same time Serena catches her whiff of her true mate and goes, bye. Seriously, why did these people even marry in the first place if they were supposed to only stick to someone whose stench tickle their noses? What a waste of time, and no one seems to think of the kid at all with all these musical butt-bopping going on.
So, Closet McKay and Wonderfang get it on, and they have twins that they beget on some surrogate; apparently both their superior batter took and now they are having a half-shifter, half-vampire and a pure shifter brat. That ending is so bright, I’m sure everyone is sparkling like pink radiant shinies that make teenage girls hungry for man-on-man fiction weep with joy.
I need a long, disinfecting bath. The true master here is the painful cringe that takes me to a dark, dark place after reading this thing.
