Disclaimers: The Night World concept and the characters John Quinn, Rashel Jordan, and Thierry Descoudres do not belong to me, and never will, but I can dream, right? They belong to Lisa Jane Smith and I am simply borrowing them to amuse myself. Kuro and Shiroka belong to me, as does the plot.
Spoilers: The Chosen and Soulmate.
Rating: I’ll give it a PG, but there are a few curses in it so be warned.
Author’s Note: You can all thank Aeslinn’s friend for convincing me to change the ending. And thanks to Aeslinn herself for listening to me talk about the story and for drawing me this great picture of the main characters. Also, thanks to everyone who commented on this when I sent it to the Night World writings list.

Seven o’ clock in the morning. Kuro Oni rubbed his long hands over his face. It had been nine weeks since Shiroka’s death, and he had accepted long ago that she wasn’t coming back regardless of how hard he prayed. But accepting it didn’t make it any easier.

He still remembered every haunting second of the day he received a phone call from Lord Thierry. Due to an earthquake, Shiroka, his soulmate, and three children had been killed when the ceiling of Circle Daybreak’s San Francisco Pediatric Shock Center collapsed. It had been an accident, an “act of God,” if you will, leaving Kuro no one to blame. Things would have been simpler if there was.

Heaving himself out of bed, Kuro showered and dressed, just as he had done every day for almost the past two decades. The daily routine kept his mind off of how empty the apartment seemed.

Dressed in a snug black T-shirt and khaki dress pants, Kuro sat on the sofa to tie his polished black shoes. His short, jet-black hair was still wet, but when it dries the top would be slightly spiked. He sighed. He didn’t have work today unless his field director beeped him. Meaning he would have all day to sit around his apartment staring at all the reminders of Shiroka. It had really been their apartment. He’d only had it for a few months before she’d moved in with him a year ago. Shiroka had scolded him on how impersonal his living space was and had promptly set about making it their home.

The living room in which he now sat in – brooding – was done in light green. Bronze and jade artifacts decorated bookshelves and end tables. The whole house was filled with traditional Japanese pieces: statues, furniture, sculptures, wall hangings, and other numerous items that needed to be dusted frequently.

Many items – such as the bronze fox that stared at him from on top of the TV – had been brought over from Japan by Shiroka’s family. She had been born in Tokyo, and had moved to California when she was two. Her parents had been killed by vampires when she was eight, and she had been raised by Circle Daybreak. After watching her parents die, Shiroka Tori was taken to the same shock center that had claimed her own life in an “act of God.”

“How could you leave me, Roka?” Kuro asked aloud. He was filled with a quiet emptiness that was complete, fully consuming him at times. He wouldn’t cry – no, he had not cried since that first time – but the utter loneliness was harder to fight than tears.

Kuro took a deep, cleansing breath. He had to move on. Shiroka would not have approved of this at all. She had survived a vampire attack and had recovered quickly – both mentally and physically. Most people would have been scarred for life. Shiroka had instead been inspired to help children in her situation. Not only that, but she was stable enough to accept and love a soulmate who was the same type of creature that had brought death to her family.

But that was how Shiroka was. Kuro called up her picture in his mind. It wasn’t hard to do. The image of her smiling face was always floating among his thoughts.

He could see her shoulder-length hair – the color of midnight – framing her soft features. Large slanted eyes that were the darkest brown possible. They always held such a strong love – for him – that it made his throat ache. The dark beauty mark that rested by her left eye, along with her smooth, pale skin gave her an exotic look. Her quiet, good-natured exterior covered a core made of the strongest metal. Shiroka was the most stable and balanced person Kuro knew – and he was lucky enough to have her as a soulmate. He always attributed it to good karma.

The doorbell rang, and Kuro scowled in the direction of the door. The bell rang again, and he made himself comfortable on the couch. He’d be damned if he were going to let someone in when he felt like being alone.

The person tried ringing a third time, and then Kuro’s vampire hearing picked up on some noises that had him going for the Browning hidden in the couch cushions and clicking off the safety. He moved slowly towards the door with the gun in a two-handed grip. Standing off to the side, he waited while someone broke into his apartment.

The door opened and Kuro was on him in a second. The mouth of the gun was pressed against the dark-haired intruder’s temple and Kuro’s finger was pressed on the trigger. Before his mouth even had a chance to open, however, the gun was wrenched out of his hand and he was flat on his back. John Quinn, his field director, stared down at him.

“Next time don’t hesitate to pull the trigger,” he said, throwing the gun to the floor and walking into the apartment. “It could get you killed.”

Glaring at Quinn’s retreating back, Kuro stood and brushed himself off. He closed and locked the door before following.

In the living room, Quinn had made himself quite comfortable in Kuro’s spot on the sofa. Kuro himself sat on a matching green armchair, which still smelled of Shiroka’s perfume. He stared at Quinn and waited for him to speak.

A silence hung awkwardly in the room until Quinn’s voice finally cut through it, quiet, but serious. “I know what you’re going through,” he began, but Kuro was on his feet in a second, bright anger simmering in his dark eyes.

“How could you?” he broke in. “How could you possibly know?”

Quinn just looked at him. His eyes – as dark and bottomless as Kuro’s – narrowed a bit. When he spoke his voice held a sort of grim amusement. “I wasn’t always in love with Rashel, you know.”

Kuro sat down again and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments he leaned back, sprawling his long body in the chair. He leaned his head back, releasing the scent of Shiroka’s hair conditioner. Closing his eyes, he breathed it in, allowing himself for just a moment to imagine that she was nearby. The scent of Quinn’s cologne from across the room brought him back. He opened his eyes and focused on the dark-haired vampire sitting on his sofa. “Why are you here, Quinn?” he asked in a voice that was very, very tired.

“I came to talk to you,” Quinn answered.

“I’m not supposed to work today unless it’s something as urgent as the discovery of the fourth Wild Power.” Kuro was a field agent for Circle Daybreak and Quinn was his team leader. Whenever information needed to be stolen or there was a Night World politician to be spied on and the situation was extremely dangerous, Quinn’s team was called in more often than not. They were quiet, they got the job done, and they all got out. Kuro had been shocked that Shiroka’s job had proven more hazardous than his own.

“It’s not about work,” Quinn told him. “It’s about Shiroka.”

At her name Kuro sighed and shut his eyes. “And what if I don’t want to talk about her?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. You need to. And I know what you’re going through because I’ve been there. Talk to me, Kuro, or I’ll beat it out of you.” Opening his eyes, Kuro saw that Quinn was perfectly serious. With a half-hearted laugh, he sat up a little.

“You first,” he said. “I wanna hear your story.”

Quinn didn’t say anything for so long that Kuro thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Her name was Dove,” he said in a voice devoid of feeling, staring at the wall across from him. “She was Hunter Redfern’s daughter. Hunter made me a vampire so I could marry her and be his heir. But we never had the chance. My own father staked her the day I reawakened and went to him for help. He believed I was the devil incarnate.”

“Dove and the devil…” Kuro murmured, smiling faintly and shaking his head. Quinn gave him a questioning look and Kuro explained himself. “My name is Kuro Oni,” he told Quinn. “My soulmate was Shiroka Tori.”

“And?”

“My name, translated from Japanese to English, means ‘black demon.’ Roka’s meant ‘white bird.’” The corner of Kuro’s mouth quirked. “Oni also means ‘devil.’ And the dove is a white bird, a symbol of purity.” He shook his head. “What irony.”

Quinn laughed. “I never knew that,” he commented. “But it’s quite appropriate.” Kuro shot him a nasty look and he laughed again. Calming down, he told Kuro, “Tell me about Shiroka. Anything you can think of. I know she’s all you’ve been thinking of for the past couple of months, so just let it out. You need this.” I needed this, he thought. But there was no one to give it to me all those hundreds of years ago. I won’t let him deal with it like I did.

Sighing, Kuro rubbed his hands over his face, “God, she was perfect,” he blurted out. “In every way. Quiet, but strong. She had no problem with pulling me aside during a party and cursing me out, wearing a charming smile the whole time.” Kuro realized that once he let himself go the words that he was usually so careful with just tumbled out. “Being an Old Soul, she kept her cool most of the time – until I started ‘acting like a prick,’ as she said.”

“Aren’t you an Old Soul?” Quinn interjected.

Kuro shrugged. “Technically, I guess. I only remember one life, though. I was with Shiroka in Spain. Well, she wasn’t called Shiroka then. She was Blanca.

“She was the nicest person I’ve ever met. When I was first introduced to her she was eleven. For years I thought, ‘How can anyone be so damned nice all the time?’ Then, after we found out what we were to each other, I realized that she just didn’t see the point in being any other way.” He paused, and decided that it was time. “Quinn,” he said, “there’s something I need you to help me with.”

“And what’s that?”

Kuro met Quinn’s eyes. “First answer some questions.” When the other vampire nodded, Kuro continued. “Do you think Shiroka was a good person? A purely good person?”

“No one is purely good,” Quinn replied.

“Well, as good as they come,” Kuro corrected, frustrated.

Quinn answered slowly, seriously. “Shiroka had more good inside her than any other person I have ever met in my entire life.”

Ignoring the pang of sorrow he felt from the truth in Quinn’s words, Kuro went on. “So she definitely had a soul, right?”

“Of course she did!” Quinn exclaimed. “You’ve lost your mind for sure if you’re even questioning that.”

“You know I’m not questioning it, damn it,” Kuro retorted. “I’m just making sure we’re on the same track.”

Quinn gave him a strange look, but said, “Go on.”

There was a pause. This was the part that scared Kuro the most because he hadn’t quite figured it out for himself. “If there is no doubt in the world that Shiroka had a soul and was a good person,” he began slowly, “then why would the Higher Powers give her to me, a soulless monster?”

“Kuro—”

“No, Quinn, my names says it all – black demon. I’m a vampire. I have no soul – but I’m an Old Soul. How is that even possible?” He shook his head. “No. I can’t believe that vampires don’t have souls. I just can’t.

“For one thing, I can’t accept that Roka would be paired with a born vampire who supposedly has no soul – no seishin. She’s too pure to deserve that. And then there’s the fact that I’ve lived before. I must’ve had a soul at one point, and those aren’t the kind of things that just go away.”

“They do if you’re a made vampire,” Quinn said quietly.

“No.” Kuro stood up. “No, Quinn. We don’t know that for sure. How do we know that made vampires who’ve died don’t come back?”

“Because no one remembers being a vampire in a past life.”

“That’s because they’re dead, Quinn! You can’t remember things if you’re dead!” he watched as realization dawned on Quinn’s face. He took a deep breath. “This is where I want your help, Quinn,” he said. “I want you to kill me.”

Quinn looked up sharply, his cool gaze assessing the seriousness in Kuro’s face. He had guessed this was what was coming. Kuro had been building up to it, and here it was. His friend wanted him to kill him. Out of all the people he’d ever killed, this was the first that wasn’t already dead or dying who was asking for death. For once Quinn wasn’t sure he could do it.

“How will you even find her?” he asked, trying to reason with his friend.

“You know the beauty mark by her eye?” When Quinn nodded, he kept going. “She has it in every life, like Lady Hannah’s birthmark. And I’ve stared at her face enough times to know what she looks like.”

There was silence for a moment, and Quinn decided to try logic on last time.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, getting up and walking over to Kuro. “There’s a chance you could be wrong. There’s a chance you won’t come back.”

“I’d rather die having been with her these past two lives than live for another five hundred years only to be staked by some lunatic with a chunk of wood.”

Quinn studied his friend for a long time. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Decide what you’re going to do with all your stuff, tie up all loose ends, and call me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Quinn,” Kuro murmured in a quiet voice, and Quinn shook his head.

“Thank me when you come back,” he said, and then he walked out of the apartment, leaving Kuro to finish his life.

*     *     *     *     *

You’ve got no unfinished business?” Quinn asked. “The last thing we need is you coming back as a ghost.”

Kuro smiled. His heart felt light. He was convinced this was going to work. He would not allow himself to doubt the possibility of returning. He wouldn’t even let himself think it, because this had to work. It just had to.

He and Quinn were in Thierry Descoudres’ mansion. As someone who had frequently waited centuries for the rebirth of his soulmate, Lord Thierry had given the existence of vampire souls a great deal of thought. But he had opted for wandering the earth for eternity rather than trying his hand at reincarnation. Kuro’s decision had interested him and he had offered the use of his mansion, since Kuro had sold his apartment a week earlier.

Now they all stood in one of the many large halls of Theirry’s estate. Kuro was surrounded by friends, coworkers, and family. He was somewhat of a hero, due to the fact that no one before had been willing to test the theory. His parents looked like two crying teenagers – neither appeared much older than his own nineteen years. Circle Daybreak members milled around, speaking in hushed tones, making Kuro feel like he was at his own funeral. Rashel Jordan, Quinn’s human soulmate, came up to him.

“I hope you find her,” she said. “I really do. And…” She paused, then let the rest out in a rush of words. “If you remember to, tell her I said hi.” She gave him a quick smile, kissed his cheek, and said goodbye. Rashel had been very close to Shiroka. The two girls had gotten along surprisingly well, despite their extreme personality differences – Rashel, ruthless and intimidating, and Shiroka, compassionate and composed. The two girls had often spent weekends together talking about God knows what. Kuro hadn’t known anyone could talk that much.

It had started when Rashel discovered that Shiroka’s parents had been killed by vampires three years after moving to California from Tokyo, on the exact day that Hunter Redfern had killed her mother. From there they had found out that their birthdays were the same, and that Shiroka had been born not even an hour after Rashel, but halfway around the world. They finally came to the conclusion that they were twin soulmates, people who were friends for many lives and just picked up the friendship from where it had left off in the previous life. Rashel had been especially broken up over Shiroka’s death, particularly because this was the only life she remembered, even if she had lived before, and she and Shiroka had only been friends for a few months. The burial had been the only time Kuro had ever seen Rashel cry. Hell, after receiving Lord Theirry’s phone call with the tragic news, he himself had cried – alone in his empty apartment – for the first time in fourteen years. Fourteen years ago, the day after his fifth birthday, had been the last time his cheeks had sported tearstains. He’d been given a bicycle without training wheels and had promptly gone tumbling down a hill, scraping all the skin off his left arm and leg. He’d healed perfectly, of course, though it had stung like hell. But that was nothing compared to the pain he’d felt when Thierry told him those words he would always remember: “Kuro, I’m sorry to have to say this, but Shiroka was killed this morning when a ceiling in the pediatric building collapsed. She was dead when we found her, shielding two small children with her body. They’re both in critical but stable condition. I’m sorry. No one could have known this would…” The Lord of the Night World’s voice had faded into the background around there, but Kuro got the meaning. There was no one to blame. So, instead of going out and torturing whoever had caused it, Kuro had sat on the floor by his bed and cried until he was ready to pass out, mourning the death of his suki – his beloved.

But now it was time to find her again. He was ready, and so was everyone else – for the most part. His mother had begged him to rethink it, but his mind was made up. And now everything that needed to be said had been said, and everything that needed to be done was done. The only thing left was for him to take the next step – that last step that would take him into the unknown.

There was a large bed in the middle of the room. Kuro would die in comfort, surrounded by love. He walked over to it. The bed was huge, and wooden – ironically. A four-poster. The blankets were black, with a thin green design.

Quinn stood on the other side of the bed. Both pairs of dark eyes met, and Quinn’s held a silent question. Kuro nodded and lay down on the bed. The room was absolutely silent.

Kuro Oni closed his eyes and allowed the other vampire’s mind to ease him into unconsciousness. The he willingly fell into a sleep he knew he would never wake from, for the sleep of death is eternal.

*     *     *     *     *

2299 AD

Kern Onani surveyed the people around him as he entered the local underground Sports Center. He hadn’t left his apartment in almost five days, seeing as he worked out of his home, and he usually liked to get out at least three times a week. And the sun’s rays were not as strong today, so now was as good a time as any to go to the Fitness Hall to work out.

Following the crowds of people who had gotten off the Metro – the fastest form of underground transportation – with him, Kern made his way to the check-in machines, where he would punch in his ID number. The time he arrived would be recorded, as well as the time her left. All the time spent in the Center was added up. His membership required at least ten hours a month.

The Sports Center was unusually crowded today; there were long lines for the check-in. Kern was trying to determine the shortest one when he saw something fall to the dull metal floor by his foot.

A girl with short dark hair had dropped her card ring and was walking away. Kern quickly stooped his tall body to pick it up. The girl’s admittance cards for her job, home, and many other important places were most likely on this ring. Kern didn’t normally get involved in other people’s business, but if he’d dropped his cards he certainly would want someone to bring them back to him. Without them he wouldn’t even be able to open the door to his apartment.

Weaving his way between multitudes of people – did they all have to finish their ten hours, too? – Kern managed to catch up with the girl by the Outside Communications Deck. She was standing alone with her arms crossed, obviously waiting for someone.

As Kern approached her, she turned her head to look around, and Kern saw her face—

—and almost fell over.

It was her.

There was no doubt about it. It was her. The girl from his dreams. The girl he’d been dreaming about for as long as he could remember. She was standing right in front of him.

She looked almost exactly the same as when she visited him at night. Same short, black hair that fell softly around her pretty face. Eyes that were a bit wider, but still slightly tilted at the corners. Black holes that he would have no problem with being sucked into. How many times had he dreamed of her eyes alone? They haunted him, those eyes. They looked right into his soul and seemed to say, I know you…

And there. Right there, beside her left eye, was the beauty mark. It was exactly where it was in his dreams.

I remember you, Kern thought, and then realized he didn’t even know her name. Because of the long, flowing white dress she always wore, and the aura of serenity that surrounded her, Kern called her his Suki Tenshi – beloved angel in Japanese, his great-grandmother’s native language. How Kern knew these words was beyond him. He couldn’t even understand Japanese.

All this passed through his mind as he took the steps that brought him directly behind her. Adrenaline coursed through him, making his palms tingle. What does a guy say when he finally confronts the girl of his dreams?

Kern opted for, “Excuse me.” She turned around, and it was even more overwhelming face to face.

Somehow he managed to continue, even though she was staring into his dark, dark eyes. “You dropped this,” he said softly, handing her the card ring.

Her tranquil gaze lowered for a moment and then returned to his face. This time, thought, her lips were curving faintly and her eyes were smiling hugely with gratitude.

“Thank you very much,” she said, and her low voice sounded more sincere than anything Kern had ever heard before. He nodded and held the cards out to her. She reached for them, still looking at him, and their fingers brushed for a second. And in that second, Kern knew.

Roka! his heart screamed, and then she was in his arms and in his mind. Memories returned in a blinding flash, and utter and complete happiness flooded through them both. He pulled back for a moment to look into her eyes and saw they glistened with tears. A smile of pure joy lit her face as she gazed at him with open love.

He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, then moved to whisper in her ear.

“Rashel says hi.”

Her hands clutched at him, holding him to her as if he’d disappear if she let go, and he wondered if Quinn would ever know that he did have a soul after all.