Soul of the Night

by Barbara Sheridan

  Ryuhei returned to the compartment moments before the train pulled out of the depot. He ignored Hoshi’s crude remarks and Akira’s concerned ones.

  * * *

  Ryuhei feared it would be the same at each town the train stopped in, but it wasn’t. No rumors of mysterious deaths or unusual happenings circulated among the travelers or station workers.

  Until they reached New York City. One of the first things to greet Ryuhei upon leaving the sprawling train depot was a young newsboy waving a sheaf of papers in his ink-stained hands, proclaiming “Strange Murders near the Upper West Side.”

  A clammy finger of dread slid its way down Ryuhei’s spine as he fumbled in his haori sleeve for his money pouch. With quaking fingers, he took out a few American coins and dropped them into the urchin’s outstretched palm.

  Akira tugged on his sleeve. “C’mon, Ryu-san. We have a carriage to take us to the hotel.”

  “You go. I’ll find my own way.”

  “Ryuhei—”

  “Just go.”

  “Oh come on, Akira, let’s leave the whiny little bitch to wallow in his own misery.”

  Akira sighed heavily. “Hoshi, don’t start…”

  “Fine.” The stout actor flipped his nose up in the air and turned away. “You can find your own damn carriage too.” He stomped off down the crowded street, giving dirty glares to anyone he bumped into.

  “I think he’s starting to rival your dramatics, Ryu-san,” Akira said with a half-smile.

  “It suits him.” Ryuhei bunched the newspaper under his arm, too distracted to care. Kiyo-kun had come to the city after all; Ryuhei knew he was responsible for the strange deaths described in the paper. That sense of dread would not leave him.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Akira gripped his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. Ryuhei stared blankly at the other man.

  “You’ve been a wreck since before we left San Francisco—you and Kiyo-kun both.” Akira frowned. “The whole train ride you said nothing, but I want to know—what happened? Did he…did he leave you, after all?”

  Ryuhei jerked away. “If I felt like talking about it, I would.”

  “As if I didn’t know that.” Akira snorted. “Ryuhei, we’ve been friends for years. You wouldn’t let a fly land on your rice bowl without the whole city hearing of it.”

  “Just leave me alone.” Ryuhei turned, too preoccupied to give much of a fuck over anything but finding Kiyoshi again.

  “Ryuhei,” Akira called after him.

  But Ryuhei pressed on until the tall dome-shaped roofs of Grand Central Depot were far behind him and he couldn’t hear Akira anymore.

  Nothing but a sick longing in his heart to find Kiyoshi guided his steps as he navigated the strange city. The names of the places mentioned in the article meant nothing to him and no one could give him directions he could follow in the maze of streets and alleys full of more buildings than he’d seen in his life.

  Exhausted and worn to the core of his soul, Ryuhei’s urgent search became an aimless wandering as the afternoon dwindled away. He walked near the piers, keeping the Atlantic on his left to retain some kind of bearing until finally, not even that mattered. Had he really hoped to find Kiyoshi this way, strolling through these unfamiliar streets and harried Americans? Or maybe he’d expected his dear one to fall into step behind him as he had all those years ago, curious to see what kind of purpose drove an old fool to trudge up and down the cobbled streets with such desperation.

  Laughing at himself until bitter tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes, Ryuhei collapsed into a seat at the bar in a tavern near the waterfront. His appearance garnered a few stares from some of the other patrons, not that he gave a fuck. He dropped a handful of coins on the table, enough to get him a full bottle of whatever western shit they drank here instead of sake, then left to find a carriage that would take him to the hotel near the train station.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Despite the myriad scents filling the Grand Central Depot, Kiyoshi had no trouble picking out those of Akira, Hoshi and especially Ryuhei when they alighted from the train. He clung to the fringes of the crowd, his head bowed, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his western jacket, his keen eyesight tracking his countrymen’s every move.

  He watched Ryu buy the newspaper and skim the lead article. His mortal lover’s unease washed over him, causing Kiyoshi’s shoulders to slump. Ryu knew, of course he did. Damn the Poisoned Dragon and his violent blood for bringing his kyuuketsuki instincts to the fore as they hadn’t been in two centuries.

  As Kiyoshi expected, Hoshi caused a bit of a scene. It also came as no surprise when Ryuhei left Akira and went off on his own. Kiyoshi followed, keeping Ryu in his sights as he wandered the bustling streets of New York, heedless of where he was going and who he was surrounding himself by. More than once Ryuhei was almost accosted, but each time Kiyoshi sent out forceful silent warnings that made the would-be assailants back off and seek an easier target.

  Finally, with darkness settling over the city and weariness settling into Ryuhei’s body, the actor hailed a carriage and asked to be taken to his hotel. Kiyoshi stood and watched until the carriage faded from view before forcing himself to close off his heart and allow his predator’s instincts to take control. This was a prime hunting ground and he planned to make the most of it.

  Clad in the dark western suit and soft-soled shoes he’d taken from one of the Chinese he’d killed on the train, Kiyoshi prowled the night through the city’s crowded ethnic neighborhoods, the distinct smells of each area guiding him to the next—the pungent garlic of the Italians, the cabbage of the Irish and Germans, the familiar spices of the Chinese.

  The western neighborhoods also carried the stench of human waste, the reeking clutter of strewn garbage that would so easily conceal the crumpled remains of his dinner companions.

  Through the thick, persistent odors that dogged his heightened abilities, Kiyoshi picked out the faintest trace of something finer…sweeter…

  Perfume.

  A scent of lavender and sandalwood, delicate and fading. Kiyoshi closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses and mind as he focused on that hint of sweetness. It was a woman, walking beside a man, recognizable by the more acidic edge to his odor. They were both silent save for a few sparse words exchanged that concerned a play they’d just finished attending. But her heart raced with a kind of passionate exhilaration, the blood rushing to her limbs and to wet her sex as they walked on. Her thoughts were back in the theater, on a particular actor she had seen and still lusted after.

  And how Kiyoshi lusted after her in turn.

  Not in the same sense, but for her passion, her blood…her life.

  Now Kiyoshi stalked through the winding alleys, not as a scavenger, but as a hunter whose mouth already watered with anticipation. Leaping over the wooden slats of a fence that barred his path, he landed gracefully on the other side in a crouch.

  The couple walked past the entrance to the alleyway only a handful of feet from where the hunter waited, the woman’s violet skirts rustling softly in the wake of her steps. With that visual contact, all of her essence filled Kiyoshi. He heard only her pulse, tasted only her blood, saw only her ivory skin. The only part of himself still uniquely his was the raw hunger gnawing at his belly, demanding immediate reprieve.

  Once, it might have frightened Kiyoshi at how easy the predator within now came alive. But how different and exciting it was compared to the quiet meals he’d taken with the monks back in San Francisco…those merciful kills that sated his body’s need for blood, but not the need to kill. And the Dragon’s blood had left him more thirsty than ever. So much so, Kiyoshi wondered if he would ever be sated again.

  Tears coated his face with a wetness that felt alien as he sprinted down the alley. In two leaps he covered the distance to fall in step behind the man and woman, his feet barely touching the cobblestone walkway. They were oblivious to his presence, completely unaware that a demon hovered
at their backs, poised for the kill. Around them, the gas lamps offered useless amounts of orange light in small pools on the pavement. No one else walked the street, no lights were on in the windows of the buildings on either side of the avenue.

  Kiyoshi breathed on the back of the woman’s neck, the golden curls at her nape stirring gently. She thought nothing of it, the down-soft hairs rising the only sign she’d felt anything at all. Oh, the total ignorance of his prey made the hunt all the more alluring. Kiyoshi’s fangs tingled, his tongue burned for the salty taste of blood, his stomach clenched painfully.

  A sob hiccupped in his throat as the desire wracked his flesh. Alarmed by the sound, the man and woman suddenly came to a stop.

  “Heavens,” she gasped softly. The melodic undercurrent in her voice drove Kiyoshi mad.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked.

  “Yes.” Kiyoshi wiped at the tears in his eyes and smiled.

  The next moment he was at the man’s throat, the sharp nails on his hand tearing through the jugular. A crimson spray leapt out of the wound as the man dropped back, a gurgle dying in what was left of his throat. Kiyoshi turned to the woman shrinking against the side of a brick building, her beautiful face a mask of horror. She opened her mouth to scream.

  “Shh.” Kiyoshi was suddenly before her, his bloody fingers on her lips to silence the cry. He kissed her cheek, savoring the taste of her fear and what it did to the already intoxicating aroma of her blood. He pushed out with his mind, letting his essence wash over and numb her troubled thoughts. The woman collapsed in his arms, unable to resist Kiyoshi’s power.

  Her head rolled on his shoulder, exposing her slender neck to Kiyoshi’s expectant fangs. When he bit into her flesh, the warmth and full flavor of her blood spilled into his mouth. He drank greedily, the tears sliding down his face as he swallowed.

  But he was still not satisfied. The ache had spread to his heart, which was heavy…lonely…

  Gasping, he dropped her lifeless form. He stared at her crumpled body beside her murdered companion’s and felt the weight of what he’d done. Not since his first days as kyuuketsuki had he succumbed to this seductive enjoyment in hunting. How ruthless he seemed now…so much like the monster he’d once feared Ryuhei would discover him to be.

  The thought of his mortal lover broke him. Kiyoshi ran down the street and on until the scent of his victims was gone. He leapt up to the roof of a building, leaving the city to sprawl out far below him.

  * * *

  Ryuhei stood at the window of his hotel room, his head resting upon the painted frame. He gazed out at the teeming city, not actually seeing New York, but rather Kyoto at dusk. He remembered walking in the cool spring night with Kiyoshi by his side as they made their way through the Hanamachi, Kiyo-kun hanging onto his every word as he regaled his lover with tales of the old days and the theaters packed to the rafters, the lush parties thrown in his honor by wealthy benefactors at the finest teahouses in Gion. Brash as he was, he bragged of the other, more private parties, the ones at the high-level brothels in the Shimabara Pleasure Quarters. He’d even been presented at the Imperial Court once and performed for the Emperor Komei himself.

  Sniffling back tears, Ryuhei returned to his bed and finished off his second bottle of French wine for the day. As he drank, Ryuhei leafed through the newspapers he’d acquired these past few days. Each one was turned to an article of a “ferocious madman” terrorizing the city. In both rich and poor sections of New York, bodies had been found, their throats ripped open as if by some feral beast. It could only be Kiyoshi—no, not Kiyoshi, not his gentle, loving Kiyoshi.

  It was the demon roused by the blood of that fucking Chinese assassin.

  Ryuhei thought of searching for him, but the vampire’s senses were so much sharper than his. Kiyoshi had to know Ryuhei was here in the city, and still he chose not to appear. Ryuhei crumpled the paper in his hands.

  “Come back to me, Kiyo-kun. Please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ryuhei’s breath caught at the sound of the soft knock upon his hotel room door. Could it be? Did he dare to even hope that his Kiyo-kun had returned to him?

  He deflated, his shoulders sagging in the folds of his silk kimono when he opened the door to find Akira there. He began to close it without a word but Akira put up his hand. Ryuhei didn’t have the strength or desire to push him out. “Go away,” he muttered, turning from the door. He walked across the room and fell face first across the wide bed. “Just go away and leave me be.”

  The feel of Akira’s hand rubbing across his back in a show of comfort served only to bring a miserable moan from Ryuhei’s lips. “Leave me alone.”

  “You’ve been alone too much I think.”

  Ryuhei turned his head from the pillow to glare at Akira. “What do you care? What does anyone care?”

  “You’ve been my friend for years. I care.”

  With a contemptuous snort, Ryuhei buried his face in the pillow once more.

  “Hoshi didn’t mean it, you know. We do need you. And I think you need to perform.”

  “I need to be left alone.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Ryuhei turned his head after a time and stared at the window, watching as the light shifted and the shadows lengthened, eventually casting the room into twilight.

  He’d had a dream…a foolish one where he’d given up waiting for Kiyoshi and wandered New York’s maze of avenues and alleyways, completely lost. During the pointless search, Ryuhei kept coming across bodies like the one of the man on the train, hanging by their necks and drained of blood. The memory of the dream left a sour taste in Ryuhei’s mouth, and he pushed down the blankets and pulled open his robe to rub his stomach as it twisted.

  Ryu collapsed back and threw his arm over his face. What an old fool he was. Such an overly dramatic fool coming apart at the least little incident. No wonder Kiyoshi preferred the life of a demon to a life with him.

  He breathed a dispirited sigh when the door creaked open some time later, but did not turn to look. The gentle pressure of someone sitting on the edge of the bed, the feel of a hand rubbing across his back brought only another sigh in response. “Go away, Akira.”

  “I’m not Akira. Does that mean I can stay?”

  Oh Gods.

  Ryuhei could swear that his heart stopped. It took great effort to turn onto his back, but he did.

  Was it Kiyoshi or was it just another dream?

  Kiyoshi grasped his hand and held it in place over his heart. “It’s no dream, Ryu, but…perhaps I’m still a nightmare to you.” Kiyoshi’s face was drawn, his full lips pressed into a thin line as though he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Maybe he hoped Ryuhei would say them instead.

  Ryuhei turned his head towards the window, his hand slipping from Kiyoshi’s. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I haven’t for a long time now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kiyoshi whispered. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

  Instinctively, Ryuhei reached out to grab Kiyoshi’s arm when he felt his lover move to leave. “Where have you been?” he asked, sitting up. “What have you been doing?”

  The guilty look in Kiyoshi’s eyes and the way he lowered his head in shame confirmed the worst.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? The mysterious animal that attacked men down near the docks.”

  “Yes.”

  Ryuhei clambered out of bed and backed against the window, his arms folded tightly within the wide sleeves of his kimono. “Is that why you’re here then? To kill me at last?”

  “No.”

  “Then why have you come?” he asked sharply, trying not to acknowledge the pain in Kiyoshi’s wide dark eyes. It was the same pain that had been rending his own heart to shreds these past days.

  Kiyoshi lowered his gaze. “I knew it was a mistake,” he said softly before rising from the bed. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Ryuhei bit his lower lip
, determined not to allow his foolish heart to speak through him. But it was in vain, as he knew it would be. “Kiyo-kun,” he called as Kiyoshi pulled the door open. He took a half-step forward, his teary eyes focused on Kiyoshi’s back. “I—I’ve been lost without you. I’ve been worried sick about you…about us…”

  Kiyoshi remained with his hand on the doorknob and his back turned. “You don’t need me. And I was never that important a part of the acting troupe.”

  “Fuck the acting troupe. I’ve given control of it to Hoshi. I don’t care about it anymore.” Ryuhei collapsed back against the window ledge, his voice faded to a near whisper. “I don’t care about anything since you’ve been gone.”

  In the blink of an eye Kiyoshi was across the room, gripping Ryuhei’s shoulders. Kiyoshi pressed against him hard enough the ledge dug into Ryu’s lower back. Kiyoshi parted his lips, his fangs extended, saliva sliding from the needle-sharp tips. His brown eyes glowed with a hellish fire.

  “I can taste your fear, Ryuhei.”

  Ryuhei said nothing. He couldn’t summon the words, any words.

  As quickly as he’d pounced, Kiyoshi let him go and seated himself on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his hands clenched together between his parted knees. Ryuhei could only stare, certain that he’d imagined things just now. But then Kiyoshi looked up and it was his Kiyoshi, his precious, gentle Kiyo-kun.

  “You’ve been missing a monster. Stop wasting your time, your life, on that. Please.”

  “I haven’t missed a monster. I’ve missed you. I’m dying without you by my side.”

  Kiyoshi frowned and looked at the floor.

  Ryuhei approached and knelt on the floor before Kiyoshi, one hand resting lightly upon his treasured lover’s knee. “I may be a self-centered old fool but I’m not entirely stupid. I always knew there was something unusual about you, but I didn’t want to question it. I didn’t want to drive you away. You’re the only person to ever show a genuine interest in me, not Nakamura the actor, not the Nakamura the sexual adventurer, but me—Ryuhei. Overreacting, overly emotional, entirely too temperamental for his own good, Ryuhei.”