The Fox & Dragon

:: C h a p t e r T w e n t y F i v e ::

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M o r g a n

"Absolutely not," I told Erik, pushing myself off the bed.

Erik grabbed my wrist and yanked me back down on the mattress with a growl.

"She's eating rotting flesh, Morgan. Do you really want her hanging around Charlie or India?" He demanded.

"No," I admitted reluctantly.

Poppy was a threat, but she was also family. I couldn't let Erik kill her, even if she was a cat-eating zombie.

Erik sensed my unease and gently placed his hand on my back.

"I don't enjoy this, Morgan. I was hoping to be wrong about Poppy, but we must be honest. She's a danger to everyone in the village. Tonight, she ate a cat. God knows what she might try to eat tomorrow," he said.

I leaned into his touch, needing the reassurance of my mate. I didn't like what he was suggesting, but something about his touch calmed my nerves.

"Okay, Poppy can't be around people. But that doesn't mean we must destroy her," I said rationally.

Erik suppressed a groan.

Did he think that I was going to give up so easily?

"Killing Poppy is out of the question. She's my family," I said, shooting Erik a deathly stare.

"She's not your family, Morgan. I'm your mate. I'm your family. We don't belong here. This village is not our home, and these peasants are not our people," Erik said, making no effort to hide the disdain in his voice.

I pulled away from him, unable to hide my annoyance. Apparently, he didn't really care about this village or its people. He pretended to care about them because he was their King, but I could tell he resented them.

"Erik, this village is all I know. I don't have any memories other than the memories I made here. I can't pretend that the last four years of my life didn't happen. India, Charlie, and Poppy are my family," I replied.

Erik's eyes darkened, and his hand dropped from my spine. He fell back against the pillows with a huff and stared at the ceiling.

"I know you don't like them," I said, talking about the villagers, "But they are good people."

"They are descendants of weak-willed cowards," Erik scoffed.

"That's not fair. They were ordinary people fleeing war," I reasoned.

"A war that you started."

I flinched at his words like a knife stabbing at me.

I rose unsteadily to my feet. What could I say? How could I defend myself from an accusation I had no memory of?

Erik's eyes softened with regret. He could tell his words hurt me.

"Morgan, I'm sorry. You're not the same person. It was unfair of me to blame you," he said, catching my wrist and pressing a kiss against my knuckles.

I stared down at him and withdrew my hand. Anger simmered on a low heat inside me.

"I suppose you plan on throwing that fact in my face every time we argue," I said dryly.

"Morgan, let's not argue. We are mates. I'm willing to make compromises for you. Let's talk about this," he said sweetly.

"I don't feel like talking to you right now," I replied.