“Wake up, Morgan.”
The voice cut through pleasant dreams of sailing the Gulf of Mexico at dusk, enjoying the setting sun and cool ocean breeze, enjoying some well-earned rest and solitude.
More insistent, bordering on impatient: “Master Duke.”
Perhaps not complete solitude. Perhaps as a bonus for successfully completing what was proving to be a much more difficult job than he usually involved himself personally in, Turoc could use his impressive skills of persuasion on the lovely Miss Taylor, make her forget about Dogwood and the little red-headed brat and leave with Morgan.
A disturbing possibility occurred to Morgan, as they often did when his defenses were down and his mind wandered, that Turoc was doing the same to him.
That venom of his had many uses, many powers, as Morgan well
