Everything must come to an end, and as Eli contemplates the loss of Malachi in a London ripped apart by war, he knows that the final battle looms ever closer.

Where is Ethan? Eli can feel him, their love for each other calling through time, but History conspires to keep them apart as Morbius uses him for the final game.

Desperate to find a way to end the war, Eli once again delves into the distant past in search of answers, but as Jack the Ripper taunts him from the pages of his dead lover’s diary, Eli is left despondent. So many lies, so many terrible secrets bleeding across his memories, and all of it to keep him safe from the fingers of those who would destroy him.

Love. All of it for love. So much lost, and all of it because of love. As Eli says goodbye to London for the last time, he can only hope that love will be enough to end the madness.

He has a plan to rescue Ethan. An audacious plan, and it will take all of History by his side to see it through to the bitter end. It is time to break Ethan free from the bonds that enslave him, and as they hurtle towards Berlin, the final sacrifice begins.
I felt his hand move across my exposed chest. His strong fingers lingered on my erect nipple, making it tingle beneath his exquisite touch as his magnificent muscular arm unfurled from around my body. Such perfection, such beauty, and I never tired of seeing his ripped physique next to my own, or the feel of his hard flesh, so smooth, so warm, brushing against me. Father broke the mould when he made him.

“We can if you want to. We have managed so far. Father doesn’t know, and it can stay that way if you let it.”

Emerald green eyes. They burned with an internal flame that singed my flesh as he gazed at me. Yet, as we lay there, our limbs entwined upon that straw mattress, I saw something else in their fathomless depths, a pleading, helpless desperation that spoke to me of impending pain. He was frightened, and so was I.

“We have talked about this. We have talked about this for centuries. It’s time for us to come out of hiding.”

He turned away from me, his muscular back filling my vision, and my body mourned the loss of his touch. How I hated to see him in pain, for in life that was all that he knew…that either of us knew…and I heard it in his voice, the memory of the Cross, the memory of his agony, and I loathed it.

“I know,” he mumbled, “but talking is one thing, this is another. We both know where this could end. We have managed for all this time, is that not enough?”

I raised myself up onto my elbow and wrapped my arm around him, my chin resting on the curve of his bicep. My anger grumbled within my chest—not at that man in my arms…never at him…but at Father, who remained entombed in his workshop, ignoring those who loved him, those who died for him. I could take it no more.

“Manage? I love you. I have always loved you. I would die for you again and again, but I will not hide my love any longer, not from Father, not from our Brothers. We have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

In one swift movement he turned, his arms around me, holding me tight, his head buried in my chest, his tears hot against my skin. For a moment I felt the same terror fill my soul as I had during our last night in Gethsemane. The terror of loss, of suffering, of a kiss that changed the world, but I swallowed it down, unwilling to give it flight.

“We have to do this,” I said gently, “as much for our Brothers as for ourselves. We have every right to do this, to exist, to love. He made us, he created us in his own image, and that means he created our love as well. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, pulling away from me so that I could see his face, and his lips, his perfect, kissable lips. “It’s a cross I have to bear.”

My jaw dropped. A sly smile crawled at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes danced with a wicked twinkle that told me his mood had changed.

“Oh no, you didn’t just say that…”

“I so did.” He laughed. “I cracked a funny.” How I loved the way his face lit up when he laughed. It transformed him so.

“That you did. You nailed it!”

It was his turn to stare at me open-mouthed, and then we burst out laughing, our stolen moment of happiness ringing around our wooden sanctuary. I reached out suddenly and grabbed his magnificent cock.

“Good job you are so well hung!”

With a roar of laughter that shook our bed, he pushed my hand away playfully.

“Hey, you sodomite, hands off the merchandise!”

“Okay, okay, no need to be so thorny!”

Suddenly he lay atop of me, baring down upon me in all his spectacular might. Sweat glistened upon his carved chest, rivulets of perspiration dripping off his pert nipples, and I found that I needed to drink him. I leaned forward, my tongue eager to feast, but he pushed me back sharply, filling my gaze with his magnificent head. He liked to wear his hair short these days, and it suited him, making the most of those huge green eyes and luscious lashes. Yet again I found my gaze returning to the crevice of his chin, my cock rest, and I lashed out quickly, my tongue brushing over the velvet of his lips.

His knees pinned my arms in place at my side, and he sat up, his ass on my stomach, forcing the air up out of my lungs.

“That will fucking teach you to be cheeky,” he grinned.

“You swore!! You actually broke the rules and swore! I’m impressed.”

“We are about to break every rule in Heaven. I think a little curse word is the least of our problems, don’t you?”

His hands moved behind his back, and I felt my stiffening cock encased in the warmth of his palms. With slow, playful jerks, he quickly brought me to attention.

“Stop it!” I demanded, though my words lacked conviction.

“Stop what?”

“That!”

“This?” His hands moved faster, pumping me mercilessly until I squirmed beneath his considerable weight.

“We haven’t…got…time,” I gasped, but already I could feel my blood rising in my cheeks as my balls tightened in his grip.

“There is always time,” he growled, and I knew that it was too late for him to stop.

“But they’re coming…”

“Give me a second and so will you.”