Til Death (Immortal Memories) (6 page)

Somehow I’ve made it to the door without realizing it. My hand’s on the doorknob, undoing the deadbolt, and I crack open the door, turning my face to hide the remnants of the bruises spanning my cheek. I gasp, relief flooding through me, happiness verging on exaltation so welcome after weeks of worry.

“Hello, Rachel.” And as before, I hear the mountains and the evergreens in the snow. “May I please come in?”

Of course he can come in. I close the door so I can remove the chain and swing it open for him. A smile lights his gray eyes, warming his handsome face. His hands are shoved into his pockets, slightly rounding his broad shoulders. Anger chases away the smile the minute he sees me. It’s like watching the utter destruction of something beautiful. There’s no way to hide the fact that this is a vampire on my doorstep. A predator. A monster.

He sweeps into my home, closing the door behind him, moving so quickly the door should have banged shut, only it happens in utter, eerie silence. And then, before I can breathe, he’s in front of me and I squeak and step back, banging into the wall. He raises his hand in apology. Long fingers. Delicate yet strong. White skin like stone. Not a man’s hands. A vampire’s. He removes the snarl from his face, schooling it into something more human, something I understand.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He approaches me slowly, carefully, his movement graceful and athletic, strong, yet supple. I think of things like cats and snakes.

I shrug. “It’s ok.”
I’m ok. Everything’s ok
. What would Max say? Hearing me repeat what must be my incredibly irritating mantra. “I mean. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“What happened to you?” His cold hands are tracing my injured cheek, his eyes register that he’s made out the imprint of a man’s hand on my throat. “Who did this?”

With halting words and half formed sentences, I tell him the story. It’s the first time I’ve talked about it since it happened. Tears well in my eyes and I let them fall unhindered. Ever so gentle, he wipes them away. And I cry and I talk and it feels so good to get it all out. Not to be the sole owner of my tragedy.

“And I hate it,” I say, when I’ve shared the entire story with him, “because I pride myself on being together. On being smart. Strong. And I was so stupid. Stupid to go by myself. Stupid to let him touch me. Stupid to wait so long to get away from him.”

He presses a finger to my lips and the gesture startles me silent. He bends and swoops me up into his arms, cradling me like a child. I press my face against his collarbone, the stubble on his jaw scratching against my forehead, and I inhale. His scent makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt safe. He crosses the living room to my couch in just a few strides of his long legs and sits, still cradling me, so I’m all curled up in his lap.

“You’re not stupid. You didn’t do anything to bring this on.” I smile into his chest and enjoy the way his arms feel, wrapped around me, holding me close in a way I’ve never let anyone hold me before.

“What’s your name?” I ask, my words echoing against his neck. “Or is it against the rules for me to know?”

He laughs. A rolling sound, rumbling in his chest like distant thunder and a warm fire. “The rules?”

I sit up and study his face. “I don’t know how this works. You were so mysterious the last two times I saw you. Maybe that’s just … the rules. That’s silly. I’m sorry.” His eyes are alight with the smile stretching across his face and I continue, emboldened by his proximity. “It’s just all this time, the only name I have for you when I think of you is vampire. The vampire. My vampire…” My stomach drops. Did I just say that? Admit to calling him my vampire? Like I have some sort of claim on him?

“So you’ve been thinking about me?” There’s not a hint of recrimination in his voice.

“Non-stop.”

“Well good. Because I’ve been thinking of you non-stop as well.”

This experience with him is so unlike the last two times I’ve been with him, I start to wonder if I’m dreaming. Did Max’s visit finally break the last thread of my sanity? Am I really collapsed somewhere in my apartment? Hallucinating all this rather than facing the reality of what my life’s turned into?

“Thomas.”

I refocus on him, eyebrows knitting together in question.

“My name is Thomas.”

“Why do I smell the mountains on your skin?”

He wasn’t prepared for that question. His smile runs away from his eyes and is replaced by pain. “Because that’s where I was born.” And that’s all he has to say about that. I’m suddenly uncomfortable. I’m curled up in his arms like he’s a long lost lover, nuzzling his chest and sharing the worst parts of myself with him.

I crawl awkwardly out of his arms and stand. “Can I get you anything?” That might be an absurd question. “Coffee?” He shakes his head. “Wine?” Another little shake, this time accompanied by a smile.

“I’m fine, Rachel.” Goosebumps break out along my skin, hearing him say my name.

“Why are you here?”

Thomas crosses his legs and folds his long fingers together. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He pats the cushion on my couch next to him. “Come back. I won’t bite.” His gaze jumps to my neck, to the pink dots near my jaw, but I sit down next to him. “You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m ok.”

“Are you?”

“Are we really at the point where you get to ask that?”

He laughs again. “Oh, Rachel of the mahogany hair and whiskey voice. Bearer of cupcakes. Brave enough for the vampire den.” I’m not sure what to say so I stay quiet. “I like you,” he finishes.

“Well, good.”

“Speaking of cupcakes, did the new ones work out for you?”

What I should say is yes. Yes, the cupcakes worked out. They were delicious and everyone was happy, the end. But I don’t say that. “No. Actually they didn’t.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes. “Oh? They weren’t any good?” And so, in the spirit of the night, I launch into my story, divulging more information to him than I’ve even given Mia. I tell him about the resounding silence in response to my resumes, my dwindling bank account. My hatred of cubicles. And then I tell him of my love of baking. My desire to be the master of my own fate. To make it or break it based off my own skills. “I was on the way to a meeting with some people who might have loaned me money,” I say. “And I’d brought the cupcakes as an example of my skill as a baker.”

“So, when you brought cupcakes from a different bakery…” he trails off, understanding dawning.

“I just looked really young and foolish,” I finish.

“I’m so sorry.” The look on his face says he really means it.

“Don’t be. I’m fine. Everything will work out some way or another.”

… You’re so busy proving to the world that you’re ok, that you can do it all on your own, that you’re pushing away anyone who ever cared about you …

Could it be true? Is Max right? Am I pushing everyone away? Thomas away? Or am I proving how strong I am? That I always land on my feet?

Thomas gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. “That’s more true than you probably know.” Weeks of daydreams and fantasies come rushing back at me. His lips on mine. My hands in his hair. His arms wrapped around me, drawing me close, molding my body against his. Him protecting me and keeping me safe from all the nightmares that hide in darkened alleys. I blush, not sure where to look because all I can see are his lips. My eyes are hooded and lidded and my lips part. I want him to kiss me.

With effort, I wrench my gaze from his mouth to his eyes and see my desire reflected there. My pulse quickens, my stomach does little flip flops. Thomas sighs, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose. “You smell so good.”

A common enough thing to say to someone you’re attracted to. Harmless. Expected. Except this time, it doesn’t feel the least bit harmless. There’s so much need in his voice, I remember that he’s a predator and I’m his prey. I should ask him to leave before I end up hurt.

But I don’t. I lean in. “So do you.”

And then his lips are on mine and they’re everything I’d dreamed they would be. His arms pull me close, pushing me against him, and I’m safe and I’m consumed and all I want is more. How can he be so cold and so strong, yet so supple and gentle? Without thinking, I climb onto his lap, straddling him, facing him, and I cup his face in my hands and part my lips, inviting his tongue into my mouth.

Who is this girl? Where did she come from? Just a few hours ago, Max’s hands terrified me and his touch was repellent but now? Now with Thomas I’m burning for his hands to explore my body. Eager and impatient.

Thomas’s lips leave mine and trace down my jaw and towards my throat. I tilt my head back, inviting him to move towards the tiny pink scars that I’ve spent hours studying in the mirror. “I need to taste you.” His voice is husky with desire.

“I need you to.”

After weeks of fantasizing about this, of imagining his teeth piercing my skin, the rhythmic pull of his mouth against my throat as he sucks my blood into his mouth, I’m so very ready to experience it again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll share his blood with me, too. I’ll be Rachel, the girl who survived the day after everything changes, feeling different for a few days and this time it won’t be lonely or scary.

He hesitates and I grow impatient. “Do it. I want you to.” And that’s all the invitation he needs. His teeth sink into my neck and I moan as he begins to drink. My hands are on his arms and I get to feel his biceps flex when he clutches me closer to him. I wait for the room to start spinning and the stars to hide the world from view but it doesn’t happen. He stops. Pulls back. Studies the twin trickles of blood tracing down my neck and tickling at my collarbone with his hooded, lust-filled eyes.

“Don’t stop.” I mean it. I want him to take me to the brink again. I want to dance with death and come back whole on the other side.

“I have to.”

“You didn’t before.”

“I have to now.” He licks the blood from my collarbone and traces his tongue up to the holes he left in my throat. Pressing the tip of his thumbnail against his long, extended canine, he draws a tiny bead of blood and rubs it to the puncture marks. “This will heal the bite mark so you don’t have to try to hide it.”

I want him to kiss me again. To bite me again. So many weeks of wanting this, of pent up fear and longing and so many different emotions and he’s here right now and all I want is him. Thomas. I hear his name in my head and smile. Thomas. My vampire.

He’s studying me again, with his gray eyes like ice on the lake. “I can speed the healing of your injuries. Your physical ones at least. The emotional ones are beyond me. At least at this point in time.”

What’s he saying? His words pulled my gaze back to his lips. I wrench my focus back up to take in his whole face. “What do you mean?”

“My blood will heal you. If you want, you can feed from me and your bruises will fade. But the injuries to your spirit … those will take a different kind of healing.” Injury to my spirit?

“Will it be like last time?”

“Yes, you’ll feel different for a few days.” I mouth the words as he speaks them, my lips moving in time with his.

His smile breaks serenely across his face as he recognizes his own trick. “I knew I liked you.”

“Will I be … will you …” I take a breath and force the question into existence. “Will drinking your blood make me a vampire?”

“No,” he says. “Not like this.” It’s clear he’s not going to say anymore, so I nod my acceptance to his offer. He bites into his wrist and I take it in my hands. Press it to my lips and close my eyes as I drink. Pain I didn’t know I was still feeling eases and I sigh, my shoulders dropping away from my ears, my thoughts line up all straight and clear for the first time in weeks. Way before I’m ready, he pulls his wrist from me. His touch is that electrifying combination of strong and gentle as he wipes a bit of blood from my chin and presses his finger past my lips. I suck on it, running my tongue across the pad, not willing to waste one drop.

He lifts me off of him and helps me to stand before standing up himself. He’s leaving, and I don’t want him to. I turn and press against him, turning my face up to his. He kisses me one last time. Deep. Passionate. Wonderful. When he pulls away, I can’t help myself.

“Will I see you again?” There’s a need in my voice that I don’t try to hide. Last time I asked the question, he disappeared without bothering to answer. This time, however, he smiles and sighs.

“Yes, Rachel of the mahogany hair, mistress of cupcakes. Yes, you’ll see me again.” And with that, he’s gone. As if he vanished. As if I’d dreamed the whole thing.

I wake up ravenous. My stomach is growling and gurgling, reminding me that it’s been too long since I’ve had a real meal. I bound down the stairs, ready to pillage my kitchen, but stop halfway down. What about my face? The bruises? Thomas said they’d heal. I pause and sigh, leaning against the wall, loving the way it feels to know his name. To use it when I think of him.

The light in the bathroom shows just how much grime I’ve let accumulate during the past few weeks. Not like me at all. I’ve got more than my fair share of projects ahead of me, getting things back in order. I peer into the mirror, my fingers tracing my perfectly healed cheek. The hand the man had left on my throat is gone and with it a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I release a breath I think I’ve been holding since my trip to Club Diablo and race back down the stairs to scour my kitchen for food.

I don’t find much. Nothing appealing anyway. I want eggs. Bacon. Coffee, strong and black and bitter. I want toast. I have none of those things here. Looks like I’m going to have to make a trip to the store. My belly rumbles its agreement but then does a little flip flop of fear when I remember my dwindling bank accounts.

Just then, two precise knocks sound on my door and excitement flares through my body, lighting up my extremities. I run through my apartment to the door - apparently I’m operating on high speed today - and throw it open, not even bothering to leave the chain and peer through the crack first. There’s Thomas, his arms laden with groceries. Apparently he
can
be out during the day. I’ll have ask him about that later.

I step aside, making room for him to enter. “What have you done?”

“I thought you’d be hungry. I brought stuff to fix it.” Without another word, he steps passed me and drops the bags on my counter. Part of me wants to protest, to remind him that I can take care of myself, but I’m too hungry for all of that nonsense.

“Thank you,” I say, digging through the bags next to him, pulling out eggs and sausage and bacon. When we’re done, there’s enough food on the counters to make breakfast for months.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought it all.” There’s fresh fruit and yogurt, hearty breads and donuts. “But I also don’t know how to cook, so I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

I forget, for a moment, what he is. “Not even eggs?”

“I have no need for eggs.” There’s a bit of an apology in his voice and I feel awful. He has no need to feel sorry for what he is. I think part of what makes him so appealing is that he has no need for human things, like eggs.

“Well my friend, I have all kinds of needs for eggs.” I hit him with a wide smile, making certain he’s aware that I’m not uncomfortable because he’s a vampire. “Want me to teach you how to cook?”

He’s taken aback by the question, like it never crossed his mind. “My sister knows how to cook …” Pain flits through his eyes.

“Your sister?” I can’t help but notice he used the present tense. Knows. His sister knows how to cook. And therefore she must still be alive.

“Yes. She’s embraced the traditions of each generation we’ve lived through, inserting herself into society, living amongst mortals …” There’s pain in his eyes again.

I’m eager to bring back his smile. “I’d love to meet her someday.”

Thomas swallows hard. “She and I are estranged. For now.” Well that’s not the way to his smile. I murmur my apology and he shakes it off. “But,” he says lifting his eyebrows, “if you teach me to cook your favorite breakfast, then I can surprise you with it another time.” Another time. More mornings spent with Thomas means more nights spent with Thomas.

I show him how to crack an egg, how to pierce the sausage so it doesn’t burst open while it cooks. We laugh at the things he doesn’t know. Like whole bean coffee needs a grinder. I dig through my cupboards and find some instant coffee, but the next day, he arrives with both a grinder and ground coffee.

We move through a series of late nights and early mornings. We talk, taking turns asking questions. I ask about his ability to walk in the sun and he laughs at the superstitions of mortals. He asks about my childhood, and bit by bit, piece by piece, I open up to him, telling him the things I’ve kept tucked away in the furthest reaches of my heart.

And when I scrape together the money to pay my electric bill, I find it’s already paid. For the rest of the year. And I get a thank you note from the apartment manager for paying the remainder of my lease up front. And Thomas learns to cook and he shows up on my doorstep proudly bearing more and more exotic meals. He’s taking care of me and I let him. I soften the hard walls and sharp lines I’ve built around my heart and I let him in.

“It doesn’t make you weak to accept help, you know,” he says one night after a scrumptious dinner. We’re curled up on my couch, a tangle of arms and legs, and I’m leaned into him, sipping wine from a glass he’d bought just for me.

“How doesn’t it make me weak? If I’m incapable of taking care of myself, that certainly doesn’t make me strong.” The wine is good and has gone to my head.

“Think of a handful of spaghetti.” Thomas has fallen in love with food. All his analogies revolve around it now. “Take just one strand in your hand, uncooked of course. This only works when the spaghetti is firm, yet brittle. Now bend it. What happens?”

I roll my eyes. “It breaks, of course.”

“But if you hold many noodles, gather them all together and try to bend them, it takes much more force to bend them, and even more force before they break.”

“I know, I know, I get it.”

“Do you?” He touches my chin with his finger, his lovely eyes waiting until I’m completely focused on him. “Because I don’t think you do. Humans are meant to work together. You’re weakest when you’re alone.” I definitely notice his use of the word ‘human.’
You’re weakest when you’re alone.
He recognizes that he lives outside of humanity, that he’s strong enough to operate without any help from anyone. Does he know how much I want to be strong like him? Outside humanity like him? I don’t dare bring it up, so I put my wine glass down and press my lips to his. I’m afraid I’m falling in love with him.

More days and nights pass and more secrets are shared. I’ve gained some weight. My smile comes easily. I laugh often and I’m either with Thomas or anxiously awaiting those two precise knocks on my front door. I see Mia watching us as we move in and out of my apartment. Sometimes she’s peering through her windows, watching as we stroll hand in hand through the courtyard on our way to wherever it is we’re going. Other times she’s with Mr. Sexy Coffee Man - Elijah - on their way to wherever it is they’re going.

We don’t speak. We don’t even really wave. Our eyes bounce nervously off each other, afraid of what the other might say.

After a few weeks, I’m no longer afraid I’m falling in love Thomas. Because I
am
in love with Thomas. I’ve offered him my blood time and again. He continues to refuse, kissing me, holding me, but keeping that part of him separate. The thing that I found the most appealing about him is the thing he won’t share with me anymore.

“But don’t you see?” I ask. “Sharing my blood with you makes me feel close to you in a way I’ve never felt close to anyone. Ever. And having your blood?” I blush. Afraid he’s going to think I want it only because of how good it makes me feel physically. How can I word it so he knows that it’s the most intimate feeling I’ve ever known?

“I know you enjoy it.” Thomas won’t make eye contact. I’ve learned he really doesn’t like this conversation. But I press on anyway.

“I do enjoy it. But not just because it makes everything about life … better. More vibrant. Thomas, I enjoy it most because it’s my chance to understand how you see things. To get to know
you.
”

He presses his lips to mine and I know the conversation is officially over. Whatever it is that keeps him from wanting to drink my blood isn’t going to go away. But I have to continue trying because if he won’t agree to drink my blood then he’ll never agree to the thing I actually want.

To become a vampire.

To escape the confines of normal human life. To operate outside the norm. To truly be the master of my own fate. And to spend the rest of forever with Thomas. The only being I’ve ever let know me. The only being I’ve ever let help me. The one person I’ve ever felt safe with.

“What’s it like?” I ask one night as we stroll through the city at twilight, watching the streets come alive.

“What do you mean?”

“You know,
you
. Being what you are. For as long as you have.” No one’s paying us any attention, but I’m vague anyway.

Understanding causes him to nod and look away. “Ahh.” He doesn’t answer right away, but I’m patient. Stay quiet and let him mull over his thoughts.

Just as I’ve decided he’s not going to answer, he does. “The years pass quickly, little blips of time, yet when I look back over the entire span of my existence, it seems to stretch on and on, so long. So much time has passed while I roam the earth.”

“Have you been lonely?”

“No.” I cringe from his answer. I don’t want to hear about centuries of women, just like me. I want to be his
one
in the way he’s my
one.
“Up until recently, I’ve had my sister.”

“Your real sister?” That sounds awful. Disrespectful. “I mean … like …” Someone leans heavily on their horn as we cross the street, giving me a chance to gather myself.

Thomas just laughs. “Yes. In both ways, she’s my real sister. We were born of the same parents and made by the same vampire. She’s kept me company for all the long years of my life.”

“Where is she now?”

His hand tenses in mine. “She’s not here.” He stops walking and leans against the brick wall of a building, pulling me towards him. “I don’t like to talk about her. It makes me sad.”

“I want to know you, Thomas. I want to know the good parts and the bad parts and the happy parts and the sad parts. I -”

His phone vibrates in his pocket, silencing me just as I found the courage to utter the three words that have been on the tip of my tongue for the last few days. I love you. I want him to know that I love him.

With a murmured apology, he draws me close with one hand, pressing me against him while he reaches for his phone with the other. I snuggle in, content, while he slides his fingers across the screen and reads the text he’d just received. His entire body goes rigid and the arm that’s wrapped around me crushes me to his chest. I gasp for breath, unable to breath.

Thomas curses and I’ve never heard his voice sound this way. Tight and strained. Thin with worry. “I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to run. Hold tight and don’t watch.” I don’t like the way he sounds, but I nod and gulp for air when he releases me, bury my face when he scoops me up. I feel movement, and there’s the rush of air in my ears, cold and biting as Thomas picks up speed. We jolt to a stop after just a few minutes and he puts me on my feet in front of my apartment.

“I have to go. For a while. Get inside and keep your door locked. Don’t let anyone you don’t know inside.”

“You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Everything. Nothing. Probably nothing. Just be cautious, ok?”

“Thomas, I don’t want you to go.” I say it and I mean it with every ounce of my being. I can’t fathom facing my life without him, if even for a few days.

“I have to. For your sake. For everyone’s sake.” His eyes are distant and I’m so afraid that what I’m really hearing is goodbye.

“Will I see you again?”

His eyes zoom back into focus, pinning me with the weight of whatever’s going on. “Yes.” His eyes shift. “No.” He sighs. “Maybe. If it’s safe.” He kisses me as my heart breaks because all I hear is him saying ‘no’ over and over and over again.