"I...died?" He'd known that, hadn't he? He could feel it. But he wasn't dead now. Was he? He didn't have time to check for a pulse, not while they were on the move. Was he just a ghost, following after Mitchell? No, that didn't seem right. He felt too real, too solid, too...alive.
And yet, not. It didn't make sense. Except that it did. Mitchell was a vampire. Ira had offered his blood so that Mitchell could regain his strength and bust out of the cell and save the others trapped inside.
But no, that couldn't be it. He'd know if he was a vampire, wouldn't he? He ran his tongue along his teeth. All normal, no fangs. When Mitchell said he'd died, he didn't mean actually died, did he?
Ira realised his thoughts were slowing him down. He tried to blank out his mind. All that mattered was following Mitchell right out of the prison.