Devin winced like he'd been struck, regret for the poor choice of words fighting with anger at the implication.

"I don't stress-feed on people, Klaus," he retorted. "I don't feed directly on people period, in no small part because of my-- because of the ghosts you just had the extremely unfortunate occasion to meet." He took an unsteady breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he continued, he sounded less irritated than the moment before. "I very definitely meant alcohol," he affirmed, hoping that his hands would stop shaking long enough to down whatever was put into a glass. "And preferably a lot of it."

Maybe if he got drunk enough, Devin would forget what had just happened for long enough to sleep.