James woke up with his hand on his mouth, swiping at the phantom liquid that was no longer there. This was ludicrous. Had he just imagined himself a vampire? Imagining himself in Anton’s shoes was one thing, but now this? James refused to believe that his mind had any desire to engage in daydreams about vampirism. He had his limits.
Not a vampire, James. The husky voice in the back of his mind spoke up, amused despite – or perhaps in the face of – his confusion. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Doctor. This is my area of expertise.
James grew skeptical. He had spoken to the woman who called herself a demon on several occasions, but she had never been able to possess his thoughts during his waking hours.
Those weren’t my thoughts.
Ruby did not understand where that vision had come from, but she knew instinctively what had been going on. She had been in the mind of someone drinking demon blood, someone who hated themselves for needing to do it. She might have thought those were Sam’s thoughts had she thought the idea possible, but the Sam she knew was stubborn as an ox and wasn’t prepared to even hear the suggestion. Was it a vision of the future then? She was as skeptical as James was about this. Psychics she had met and was familiar with, but this was taking things too far.