To battle an ancient evil, the greatest weapon each hero will have is each other.

Hundreds of years ago, facing defeat, the witch Morgana sent monsters into the future to vanquish a humanity King Arthur wouldn’t be able to save. The King might have won the battle, but now, centuries later, a few chosen men will have to fight the war.

Merlin always hated being named after some mythological wizard. His dad had been obsessed with the magic man of King Arthur’s Court before his untimely death – a loss that had sent Mel reeling in a downward spiral. He is ill-prepared, to say the least, for the outrageous claims of a proper English knight bent on overcoming evil.

Born a commoner, Lancelot was never supposed to be a knight in his own time, never mind now in a modern world he is so woefully untrained to protect. Thrown into a battle centuries in the making, this flawed hero, and a young man too-used to battling monsters of the present day, will have to come together in a last desperate fight to save humanity.

Can Mel and Lance defeat the greatest enemy the world has ever known? Or in the midst of fighting evil, will they discover the real threat has always been a shattered heart?

And what if the one fight they cannot ever hope to win is with themselves?

 

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“What the…what the fuck was that?”

Lance turned immediately, drawing his coat to conceal his armory. “You’re safe. The thief’s run off.” He bent to the figure sprawled on the ground, knowing he would have been unable to see what attacked him and hoping his shocked state and the shadows behind the dumpsters would further aid Lance’s lies.

“No,” the man said, clasping Lance’s offered hand. “I mean—that thing. That thing—what was it?” Lance stilled in shock as the stranger scrambled to his feet, stepping toward a security light over a doorway, and every ridiculous explanation about muggers died in Lance’s throat. Black riotous curls swung and were hurriedly pushed aside by a slim hand. Every cell in Lance’s body tightened as anger, determination, and something else flashed in brilliant blue eyes. Lance wrenched his own eyes from them and let his gaze slowly slide over flushed cheeks and beautiful, plump, pouty lips.

The taut silky black shirt was open enough Lance caught a flash of a silver piercing as the man bent and brushed his arse. Lance was helpless not to let his gaze follow the slim fingers as they seemed to dance over the tight-fitting, black, torn jeans. “Fucking new,” he groused and then straightened, a dimple flashing as he put out a hand. “Well, new to me.”

Lance blinked, staring at the hand like it was going to bite. Just as the man’s expression changed to resignation and he went to drop his hand, Lance managed to get his body to cooperate and clutched the offered fingers. “Are you inj…”

But Lance’s concern died in his throat as a memory, a presence, battered him and brought a silence so profound it seemed like the city itself held its very breath. Lance glanced down at the fingers he was holding as if they contained a puzzle and were more than flesh and blood.

“No, thanks to you.” The man smiled, then tried to withdraw his hand. One plucked eyebrow shot up when Lance couldn’t seem to let it go. He sighed. “I guess I owe you. Come behind the dumpsters.”

Lance blinked out of his daze. The dumpsters?

“I’m not blowing you out here. If someone heard, they may have called the cops, and don’t give me no mugger bullshit. Filthy, disgusting—”

The man took a step and gazed down at his hand that Lance was still clutching. He frowned. “Look, I oughta call the cops anyway. Those steroids have gotta be illegal, and it sure as shit is too early for Halloween.”

He barely had time to process what the man was saying when his mind skidded to an abrupt halt. He saw it? Could he see the Ursus? No humans ever saw them. It was impossible. Unless… The man shook Lance’s hand free and took a step away, Lance’s continued silence obviously causing alarm. “I’m gonna call the cops.” He took a determined step back, and Lance panicked.

“What’s your name?” Lance rushed out and watched in fascination as the dimple flashed again in the man’s cheek, and he stuck out his hand again.

“Mel. But you can call me anything you like.” Lance looked at his hand and then clasped it firmly before letting it go. “And you are? I at least ought to know the name of my gallant rescuer.” The shy smile went straight to Lance’s knees.

Gallant? Mel had no idea how accurate his teasing was. “It’s Lance, err…short for Lancelot. Lancelot Buchanan.” He waited for the derision that usually followed when people heard his full first name.

A peal of laughter rang out, and Mel’s eyes danced. “You’re serious?” Lance drew himself up—it wasn’t that funny. “I’m sorry.” But he didn’t look sorry. Mirth flickered in his eyes. “My dad had a weird hang-up about history. Old English stuff.” Mel’s flush deepened. “I didn’t mean it was funny, it’s just such a coincidence.”

Lance’s heart immediately beat a tattoo in his chest. “Coincidence?” His voice rose and he cleared his throat.

“I shortened my real name.”

Lance’s heart stopped. He practically heard its last furious beat. “What’s your name?”

Mel groaned. “You’re never gonna believe me.”

“Try me.” Lance croaked the words out past lips that dread seemed to be rendering numb.

“Although my mom was probably high or something when they named me. It’s Merlin. Go figure.”

Merlin? Lance’s eyes roved up and down Mel but this time in complete disbelief.

“But what can you do?” Mel groused. “Some fucking people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.”

Lance blinked in shock one more time and shook his head. He really had no idea.

“I’m going to call the cops right now.” Mel took a determined step back and fished in his pocket for a cell phone. Lance had a second to marvel at how he would fit anything in a space that looked too tight for even oxygen when he realized he couldn’t let him. The police? He shot out a hand to stop him without thinking, and Mel whirled.

Five seconds later Lance lay flat on his back, staring at the sky.

For a breathless second, neither of them uttered a word, and then Lance groaned as Mel’s face appeared and his wide, now worried gaze fell on him.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry, it was automatic. Did I hurt you?” His concerned eyes raked him up and down. “Did you hit your head? Perhaps we should get you to the emergency room? Old man Jericho will lend me his car.” Mel was obviously taking his shocked silence as an indication of injury.

Oh my God. Lance sat up. He fought monsters, supernatural beings that couldn’t be killed. He was over fifteen hundred years old, and some man—boy—had just laid him flat out. He put his hand to the back of his head. Thank God Gawain wasn’t there to witness his humiliation. Lance would never hear the end of it.

Victoria Sue fell in love with love stories as a child when she would hide away with her mom’s library books and dream of the dashing hero coming to rescue her from math homework. She never mastered math but never stopped loving her heroes and decided to give them the happy ever afters they fight so hard for.
She loves reading and writing about gorgeous boys loving each other the best—and creating a family for them to adore. Thrilled to hear from her readers, she can be found most days lurking on Facebook where she doesn’t need factor 1000 sun-cream to hide her freckles.

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