The small sound, a tiny scuffle easily lost in the constant hum of the ship, could have easily been lost, but it sobered Luc. The bourbon and champagne and Burgundy—good gods, how much had he drunk?—tried to replace the curtain they'd put over his brain, but he mentally brushed them away. That was one of the odd talents he'd inherited from his ancestors—alcohol didn't affect him unless he wanted it to, and he could make the effects go away when he needed, although he might still pay with a hangover on the morrow.
Veronica swayed on his arm but didn't say anything. In the dim light, he could barely see her blinking, attempting to clear her brain, but he knew she wouldn't be able to. What to do with her? He didn't want her to get hurt, but he didn’t have time to spirit her away. A certain f
