Disclaimer: I don't intend to make any monetary profit from this story. I don't own the Night World. I do, however, own the characters made up in this story.

Rating: PG-13/ R (for situations and language)

Author: J. A. K *Hope you like it *

#Prologue#

How could my sister's rapist be my soulmate?

That was the question I asked myself as I stood there staring at him. The man whose face still haunted the dreams of my sister, but the face my fingers currently longed to touch.

As my eyes searched his suddenly sullen features I noticed that his eyebrows had become drawn and had settled together.

He was just as confused as I was, I realized; probably even more so than me.

Then why, I asked myself. Why was he conforming to his own bewilderment and moving to brush my cheek with his knuckles? Why was I leaning into his touch? Why was his other hand reaching for my waist?

I closed my eyes feeling overwhelmed from the sensations that were quietly spreading throughout my body. Leaning against the desk that was behind me, I tried to make sense of the situation. I tried to remember how I had gotten to the place I was in now: inside an office, directly opposite from a man who could just be the sexiest being- male or female- alive.

But really, I reminded myself, how could a rapist possibly be sexy? Wasn't the mere idea of such a supposition an oxymoron?

I brought my hands to either side of my forehead.

How, I asked myself.

How could I have let this happen?

My mind traveled back to that day when I had first seen him. My family and our supporters had been assembled on one side of the courtroom, while his people were assembled on the other. An impression of anxious anticipation, along with a mass jumble of emotions that I couldn't quite single out, were humming along the dark confines of the room, as we waited for him to arrive.

As he and his lawyer passed where I sat, I noticed that his face appeared oddly smug yet bored at the same time. He seemed as if he was just humoring us with his presence; as if he could be other places and doing other things, instead of being here, standing trial for having raped my sister.

Later on, when he went on the witness stand trading barbs with our lawyer, replying to everything she asked and yet not directly answering any of her questions, I made a conscious effort to stare at the ground; I did that only because I didn't trust myself to look at him just yet.

As time wore on, I realized- rather suddenly- that though I knew cognitively that their mouths were moving and that sound was indeed coming forth, I really had no clue as to what exactly they were saying. And the more I thought on the matter, the faster I concluded that I really didn't care what lies spewed out of his mouth.

When he spoke again, for whatever reason, my ears inexplicably perked up. As I began to listen, with an uneven sort of calm to what he said, I found that I could detect slight tremors in his voice.

Could he actually be sorry for his undignified actions I wondered? I glanced up to judge for myself.

I was wrong. His voice didn't shake because of guilt, or shame, or even remorse.

No.

He seemed to be immensely amused. In front of me, I heard my sister inhale sharply, and I knew she realized it too.

Well- as they say- that was the straw that broke the camels back.

Before I knew what I was doing, I jumped out of my chair.

"You stupid smug son of a bitch," I got out through gritted teeth.

"I will ask you Ms. Lanai, to please take a seat, or you will be charged with contempt."

I watched the judge incredulously.

"But your honor- he's laughing." I gestured towards him barely able to control my anger. At that point I made the mistake of glancing over, and actually looking directly at him.

The corner of his lip was turned up, and I saw a glimmer of teeth as he let out a small chuckle.

In my rage, I can barely remember to this day exactly what I said. All I can clearly remember was that I took off my 2 and ¾ inch shoe- and I did it. I flung my pump, with pinpoint accuracy, right into his face. I wasn't satisfied, however, with the crack that I heard, which thinking on it now, probably meant that his nose was broken. No. I wanted his blood.

The guards surrounded me and grabbed me around my waist while capturing the offending arm. By that time, the whole courtroom was in an uproar. The judge was futilely trying to restore order, and he was holding his nose in complete and utter astonishment.

Good, I thought.

"You bastard," I screamed. "You better hope they find you guilty, 'cause if I ever see your face just randomly wandering the streets, I swear to God I'm going to kill you."

Even now, I must admit to myself that that was an overly dramatic, but just as equally impressive of an exit.

Because when the guards hauled me down the aisle of the courtroom, and I in turn lashed out against them, the doors closed on the last syllable of my sentence, making my words sound all the more like they were intended to…

…a thinly veiled threat.