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 M O R G A N

Erik knelt on the floor before me in a pitiful drunken stupor. I should have warned him not to drink Charlie's Dragonbreath Draft Ale. There were good reasons why the Food Standards Agency never allowed him to legally sell it.

I put the jar of coffee back on the shelf and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Come on, get up. You'll die of embarrassment when you recall this in the morning," I said.

"You are my mate; I only wish to please you," he announced a little too loudly for my comfort.

I slapped my hand over his mouth.

"Are you crazy? Someone might hear you!" I said.

"Let them hear. I will not allow anyone to come between us. I want to be your husband, the father of your children; I want to be the one who -"

Erik stopped mid-sentence and pressed a hand against his mouth. His expression suddenly changed. His eyes widened in panic or fear. I recognised that look. It was a look I'd encountered many times as a barmaid.

"Don't you dare vomit in here," I snapped, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him out of the larder.

He stumbled/crawled into the corridor and lunged towards an old plastic container. The noises that followed were what I imagined a dying dinosaur sound.

I rubbed Erik's back gingerly as he barfed and roared into the plastic container. I didn't like seeing him ill, even if it was self-inflicted.

Once everything was brought up, he rocked back on his heels and leaned against me. His head dropped onto my shoulder, and he looked up at me with a sad face.

"You need to go home," I sighed. "And learn to handle your beer."

"He's never been drunk before," a voice came from the side.

I lifted my head and saw Erik's companion, Byron, standing in the doorway. He was slumped against the door frame, holding the fur coat he had claimed to be my mother.

"You need to take him home," I said, rubbing Erik's back.

"I don't think I can carry him all the way back to Glenn's house," Byron said.

"He can't stay here," I sighed.

"Then, I guess he'll have to sleep outside in the car park. He's not going to be walking anywhere in that state," Byron shrugged.

Erik lifted his head from the plastic tub and groaned, "Morgan, the floor feels like it is moving."

"Can you get up?" I asked.

Erik went to stand up and fell backwards, knocking over a tower of paper napkins. I groaned inwardly. He was too drunk to walk home, and I had no heart to let him sleep outside in the car park.

"I suppose he could stay with me for the night," I sighed.

Byron smiled and clapped his hands. "That's great news. I'll leave him in your capable hands and pop back in the morning to pick him up."

"Are you going to be okay, getting home?" I asked Byron, aware he had drunk the same amount as Erik.

Byron scoffed, "I'm fine. I've spent many years chasing wine, women, and song. But, unlike Erik, I have developed a tolerance to these types of ales."

"I saw you arguing with a plant pot," I said bluntly.

Byron ignored my remark and gave me a courtly bow. "I will take my leave. I bid you a good night, my lady."

He snuck out the backdoor leaving me with Erik, who appeared to be falling asleep on a pile of napkins. I lightly tapped his thigh with my shoe and said, "Come on, follow me. We are going to bed."

Erik half opened his eyes and walked/crawled after me. I took him up the back stairs and ordered him to wash his face and brush his teeth in the bathroom. Once he had freshened up, I led him into my tiny room.

"It's chilly in here," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

It was freezing. It was the downside of living in a beautiful historic house; there was no central heating or double glazing.

"Take your shoes off," I said.

"Why?" Erik asked.

"You are going to bed," I said.

"We are going to bed?" He replied.

"No, you are going to bed, and I will sleep in that chair," I said, nodding to the chair in the corner.

"The chair? That's not warm or comfortable. Why don't you sleep next to me? I promise not to bite," he grinned.

I rolled my eyes at him and said, "Shoes off and get under the covers now."

He kicked off his shoes and then, unexpectedly, stood up and took off his shirt. I quickly spun around and faced the wall to give him some privacy.

"What are you doing," he asked, tossing his shirt, then trousers onto the bedroom floor.

"I'm giving you some privacy," I replied.

"Why? We are mates. I'm happy for you to see me naked," he said as a pair of boxers were tossed onto the floor next to me.

"Are you naked?" I said, trying not to sound outraged.

"Yeah, do you want to take a peek," he teased.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed my waist and started to tickle me. I gasped in shock and squeezed my eyes shut. The drunk naked Erik wanted to play. I slapped his hands away from me and yelled, "If you don't behave, you can sleep outside."

Erik sighed loudly and climbed into bed. I waited a few seconds and opened my eyes.

"Please tell me you are under a blanket," I asked.

"Yes, it's safe for you to look," he said.

I turned towards the bed and saw him propped on one elbow against my pillows. The colour was returning to his face, so I hoped he was on the road to recovery.

"You are going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow," I said, settling down on the chair.

Erik frowned, "That chair doesn't look comfortable."

"It's fine," I said, pulling a dressing gown over me. However, the chair was uncomfortable, and I struggled to find a good sleeping position.

Erik watched me with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Come lie next to me. I promise not to bite."

"Shut up and go to sleep," I snapped, closing my eyes.

I fell asleep on the chair and woke up shivering an hour later. The room was so cold that I could see my breath condensing into icy water vapour. I gazed over to Erik, who seemed to be muttering to himself.

"Erik, are you okay?" I whispered, noticing the strained look on his face.

"Six - sixteen. Where are their wings?" Erik mumbled.

"What," I crept closer.

Erik's eyes were shut, but his lips were moving. He was talking to himself in his sleep. His eyebrows drew together in concern, and he said, "Ambush. Their wings were gone."

"Erik," I said softly, leaning onto the bed.

"My father ambushed. Sixteen thousand men. The bodies were defiled. Their wings, what did they do to their wings?" Erik almost cried.

I reached out and touched his arm. Erik's eyes flew open. He grabbed my arm with a bone-crushing grip and pulled me down on the bed as if I was a burglar. His hand flailed about for a few seconds, probably searching for a weapon. Then, when he realised it was me, he stopped and breathed my name, "Morgan."

The pain in his voice made my heart break. He must have dreamt something truly horrible to be so shaken. I reached out and traced my fingers across his jawline.

"It's okay. You're safe," I said softly.

Pain flickered across his eyes, and he suddenly yanked me into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped around me as he buried his face into my hair. My entire body tensed in shock.

"Please, let me hold you a little while," he said softly. "I don't want to be alone right now."

"Okay," I replied quietly. "Do you want to talk about what upset you?"

"No, I just want to hold my mate and dream of a better future," he replied, falling back against the pillows and taking me with him.

I rested my head against his shoulder and pulled the duvet over me. This was way more comfortable than sleeping in that chair.

"Are you feeling better now?" I asked.

"Much better," he replied.

"You were talking in your sleep about an ambush," I said.

His muscles tensed as he hugged me a little tighter.

"It was just a bad memory," he replied dismissively.

"You kept asking about wings," I said, daring to dig a little deeper.

"Forget about it. It was just a dream," he said, touching my waist. "Damn, your skin is cold. Let me help warm you up."

Erik shifted his body, so it curled around mine. His warm fingers splayed across my belly, and I had to suppress a moan of bliss.

"You are so warm," I sighed dreamily. "Like a giant wheat bag."

Erik's chest rumbled against my spine as he laughed. "I've never been called a wheat bag before."

"It's a great compliment," I replied, pressing the cold soles of my feet against his calves.

He let out a little cry and gasped, "You're feet are blocks of ice."

"Stop moaning; this is the price you have to pay for getting unnecessarily drunk and forcing me to let you sleep in my bed," I said.

Erik went quiet for a few seconds and said, "You know, I was serious about what I said earlier. I want to learn how to pleasure my mate. I don't have much experience, but I'm willing to learn how best to please you."

A curious thought crossed my mind, and I opened my eyes and asked, "How much do you know about 'doing it'?"

"The basics," he shrugged.

"What do you mean 'the basics'?" I replied.

"I know how dragon whelps are created," he answered awkwardly.

"And how is that?" I pressed. "Do you think a baby dragon is made when a Mummy dragon wishes on a star?"

"No, of course not," Erik scoffed. "I may be a virgin, but I'm not a nun."

"Then prove it. Tell me something about lovemaking," I asked.

Erik slid his hand towards the bands of my panties and said, "I know about the little pearl between your legs. Byron once told me if you kiss that pearl, women will scream your name in sweet agony."

"That is true," I said, sounding breathless. "But unfortunately, most men don't know where to find it."

"Would you show me?" Erik asked. "I promise if you show me, I won't forget where it is."

I bit my lip and wondered if I should indulge his thirst for knowledge...