Free Til Death (Immortal Memories) by R. M. Webb Page A

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