She wore rings on her fingers, rings on her toes, rings through her ears and rings through her nose.

Apart from that, and the unusual tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, there was nothing special about her. Brown hair flashed gold with highlights, cut jagged and wind-swept. Her eyes were the simple blue of a mortal and her lips were thin and pale pink. Not beautiful, not even pretty; people only looked when she smiled.

She wore black and white and nothing else. Long white gypsy skirt, white camisole top that laced up in the front, thick black belt that rested on her hips and black open-toe sandals that snapped against the soles of her feet as she moved. A reserved look, if not boring.

Sam pulled his eyes away discreetly and made his way to the bar. He caught the curious glances along the way, the intrigue flittering across the faces of girls and women alike. He was used to it, because though Samuel Blacksmith wasn't beautiful, he was handsome, with a boyish face, neatly-cut brown hair and brown eyes ringed a deep, luminuous indigo.

He was also the son of an immensely powerful sorceror and a black witch, but not many people knew that.

He ordered himself a beer and turned to survey the crowd with disinterest, gaze sweeping past nameless faces that mattered little to him. He finally found who he was looking for seated on the soft leather couches in the corner of the club and made his way over.

"Hey Blacksmith!" he heard Reed holler over the din of the music. The lamia had one arm slung around the shoulders of a petite brunette with boy-short hair and sharp, androgynous features. The other was wrapped around his best friend Kushial, who looked every bit the snow tigress she was, with her white curls, fierce features and black eyes. She wore a white summer dress and bright red pumps that hurt his eyes.

Curled up on the armchair to Kushial's left was Abigail Hart, newly recovered nutcase with powers that were not her own. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing pixie-like features that were wrinkled with mirth. She was laughing at something her brother Chris had said, head tilted back, heavy looped earrings swinging merrily. Sam had only heard such a contagious, innocent laugh once before.

"Hey Redfern," he said, settling down beside Chris. "What's with the boy-toy?" The sorcerer’s cool gaze slid to the human girl tucked against Reed's side. She glared daggers at him.

"Fuck you!" she hissed, features thinning into a skeletal mask. Sam smiled a shark's smile, flashing perfect white teeth. Too easy.

"He doesn't mean it, Sal," Reed said, tilting his head and kissing her quick. The lamia's green eyes flickered to his and Sam caught the amusement in his gaze. "He's just fuckin' with you."

"I wouldn't fuck that for--"

"Dude," came Chris' bubbling laughter. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Sam turned and grinned at the human boy, relaxing back against the couch.

His eyes flickered absently to the dance floor and he caught sight of her again. She was alone and agitated, leaning against the wall with her eyes downcast, shifting from foot to foot. When she lifted her head to gaze apprehensively around the room, Sam realised then what he hadn't before.

The girl was not the confident young thing she made herself out to be. There was an uncertainty to her posture, an awkwardness, and there was a shyness to her face despite the piercings. Behind the facade lay cracks...

... and he longed to watch them splinter.

---

Sam dreamt of that night in black and white and woke to an empty bed. He stared up at the ceiling, the indigo of his eyes casting an eerie glow in the darkness, and sighed heavily. He was getting tired of this.

Black satin sheets slid down his chest and pooled at his hips as he sat up. He slid out of bed, bare feet settling on the cool tile floor, and padded towards the lounge.

He found her dozing on his couch.

He called her name -- such a dull name -- yet she didn't stir, only shifted in her sleep and murmured something nonsensical. Annoyed, he settled down beside her and laid a gentle hand against her cheek. A sharp shot of energy passed from him to her and she jerked awake. She sat up, disoriented and fighting to focus on his face.

"Jesus," she protested hoarsely, rubbing her arms with her hands to dispel the after-shock he knew was prickling across her skin. She grimaced and glared at him through a tangled curtain of light brown tresses . "You're crazy."

"Why are you sleeping on the couch?" he asked plainly, ignoring her discomfort and making no move to soothe her frayed nerves.

"Because I don't like your sheets," was her simple reply. "And I don't like you."

He arched an eyebrow, his cool gaze tracing her sleepy features for any sign of falsehood. But there was nothing past the quiet serenity in her eyes and the soft curve of her lips, and something inside of Sam tightened at her honesty.

"Then why are you here?"

She stared at him, gaze shy but unwavering. Intimacy scared her but determination drove her on and the mix was intoxicating to him. Like a drug, he was addicted to the sweet charm of her face and the soft lilt of her voice, and like a drug it made him weak, made him feel things that didn't exist. It was all a lie.

"Circumstance," she finally answered, and the truth was a bitter pill to swallow. Strange, how he had once tried to drive out of her the white lies she hid behind, only to find that he missed them now. Her honesty was biting and he had made it that way.

"Yes, you did," she whispered and his luminious eyes flared angrily. His thoughts were not his own these days and he hated her for it. He hated her for a lot of things.

"You're weak, too, Sam," she said and he glanced at her, gaze mocking. A mortal girl, calling him weak? She, with her shy eyes and her hesitant touch, who lived a life of shallow goals and superficial happiness? Amusing.

He allowed her her words nonetheless and kept quiet. This would be interesting.

"You can't see past your own strengths," she continued softly, "and that's your weakness. You loathe me because I'm not you, yet you know nothing about what it's like to be human. You only know yourself."

"Why would I want to be human when I can be something greater?" he argued, leaning forward. He lifted a hand and trailed his fingers across the curve of her cheek, sliding them down until he was cupping her jaw. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and pulled her gently towards him to whisper in her ear, "I live in a world you couldn't even begin to comprehend. I know magic and I know power. Isn't that what all humans seek?"

She shivered, inhaling sharply at the brush of his lips against her ear, and he smiled. He moved to kiss the hollow behind her ear and the soulmate link opened up between them. The world shattered in a splendid of colour and rebuilt itself, sharper than ever. Every touch, every sensation grew ever more intense.

"In the beginning--" How things had changed since then and yet it was as it had always been. "--you asked me how I could be so cruel, to toy with them, to break them, like I broke you." His lips caressed the soft flesh of her neck and he breathed her in, savouring the smell of her, the memory. "But you forget, love. I made you what you are today. I made you stronger. Cruel as I am, you're better for it."

"Am I?" she countered in a low voice, pulling away from him to gaze into his unfathomable eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with want and anger and it was the only time she had ever looked beautiful to him. "I don't think you did break me, Sam. You changed me, yes, but I'm still that girl you tried to hate."

This time it was her turn to lean forward and she did so, eyes fixed on his so intently that he couldn't look away. There was a steely determination in those eyes but behind them lie a shimmer of fear.

Her voice steady but breathless, she whispered to him as he had whispered to her, "And you like my weaknesses, Sam." She brushed her lips against his cheek, a ghost of a kiss. "You like how uncertain I am. You like that I haven't experienced what you have." She shook her head slightly, lifting her face to look at him as she spoke, "But you haven't experienced what I have, either. You can't begin to comprehend human emotion, human happiness, because you know nothing of it. You have no time for it."

She kissed him, the barest touch of her lips against his. The world exploded again and Sam could focus on nothing but the blue of her eyes. Sadness lurked in their depths and her gaze was heavy as she stared at him. She spoke her final words before she left and he never saw her again.

"And that makes you weak."

---

In the following weeks Sam would remember those words. His father, Nathaniel Blacksmith, would arrive in town to cash in on a debt long over due in his eyes. The leading Night World assassin would demand final payment from his son for twenty years worth of privilege and prosperity, in the form of a death warrant -- for his soulmate.

Why Nathaniel would want his soulmate dead, he would never say. Sam would only be given a name -- a familiar name -- and a deadline. Nothing more. Beyond that was a promise of payment, of wealth and status and power.

Days would be wasted in thought and consideration. He would remember what had brought him here in the first place. How he had been forced to live in this town because his father demanded it. How he had been forced to deceive his friends because his father demanded it.

How he had been forced to kill because his father demanded it.

Who was the weak one? The father, for not having the courage to carry out the deed himself? Or the son, for not having the courage to say no?

But that question would hold no significance to the one that would plague him.

Would he do it?