Chapter Text
Samedi 12 Octobre 1866
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“Ha…Er–Erwin…”
Levi’s hair catches on the rough bark of the tree as he throws his head back in ecstacy. While he has both hands tangled in Erwin’s hair, Erwin uses his own hands to pin him to the tree. Levi’s legs are slung over his broad shoulders, one hand pressed against his chest. The other digging into the meat of his ass. Erwin’s thumb glides back and forth, teasing at where he’s burning hot and dripping.
“Shit. Shit.”
Erwin hums against him, sending a ballet of sweet vibrations up his spine. His cold tongue twirls and spins itself around Levi’s sensitive core, and he scratches his fingernails against Erwin’s scalp in response. A moan of pleasure gets caught in his throat, tripping over itself as he feels the edge of a sharp canine. Levi twitches in his hold at the sensation, and feels Erwin grin, teeth dragging across his skin.
Head rolling on his shoulders, Levi catches sight of the mess of silver scattered around them: A dagger laying next to Erwin where he kneels between Levi’s open thighs; a sleek needle-like blade that twinkles in the moonlight, giving away its position in the grass; a canteen of holy water that rests on its side, contents seeping into the cool earth. For the first time, Levi doesn’t even think of reaching for any of it—not even the second silver-tipped wooden stake tucked into the cuff of his boot, obscured by the trousers pushed down well below his knees. All Levi can think about is—
“M–more. Shit, Erwin,” Levi gasps, squeezing his thighs over Erwin's ears and hiking his hips up to grind against the sharp cut of a nose. Erwin tightens his grip, pinning him in place more firmly.
Levi whines at the denial. There’s a tight heat coiling in his lower stomach, a hot brand of pleasure lapping at his senses that makes the coldness of Erwin’s touch against his burning flesh all the more poignant.
Erwin trails his mouth over Levi’s thigh, and his lips attach to the smooth alabaster skin. Levi can feel a sly grin pulling at the corners of Erwin’s mouth against the meat of his leg.
“Mm…You smell positively devine.” Erwin’s voice is made of silk and smoke. It lures Levi in with a promise of comfort and refinement, before stifling the very breath in his lungs.
Not that Erwin would know. The sharp canines grazing untouched skin are a constant reminder of that.
“I can practically taste you.” Erwin's lips are cool as they close around skin, sucking a pink bruise to the surface.
“Fuck…”
“Not tonight, mon joli,” Erwin teases. He skims his teeth along the sensitive flesh, finely pointed fangs etching thin red lines against white.
“Please.”
Erwin tips his head back. “Look at me.”
Levi obeys without hesitation, looking down with fluttering lashes. He knows what to expect when he meets the rich sodalite blue of Erwin’s eyes, and now he welcomes the plunge, surrendering to Erwin’s thrall. What once disarmed him now brings a sense of serenity, wrapping him up tight, swaddling his thoughts so that all he has to do is feel.
Finally, after over a month of dancing around each other, Erwin sinks his fangs into Levi’s thigh. Levi utters a gasp of blistering pleasure into the empty night—hot and cold mixing in his veins while Erwin’s teeth lance a sweet chill through him. His punishing grip in Erwin’s hair relaxes into a cradle.
The potent combination of venom and thrall lures him into a fog of bliss. It becomes easy to forget about everything he’s done — the man he’s killed, the probable madness consuming him, the disgrace that he’s become; it all fades away in the face of Erwin.
Erwin who’s the reason for all of his strife.
Erwin who’s able to make him come with fangs still buried in his skin as soon as two thick fingers breach him, pressing up and against that delightful spot that makes everything sway.
Erwin who should kill him, drain him dry here and now, but chooses not to. As Levi tips over, clinging to Erwin’s back and shoulders, he feels Erwin swallow a final time before licking the wound with the flat of his tongue — staunching the bleeding and pressing his nose into the crease of skin where hip meets thigh.
Slowly, gently, Erwin lowers him to the ground to press a chaste kiss to Levi’s lips.
“Parfait, mon chéri.”
Le Lundi 3 Septembre 1866
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“This had better be good, connard.”
“Levi, thank you for finding the time to meet.”
“Anyways.” Levi rolls his eyes and crosses his legs. “You have a new job or not, Lovof?”
“I do, but I should warn you, it’s not the normal request.”
“Tch, just get to it,” Levi says.
“Always straight to the point with you.” Lovof slides a thick envelope across the table. It’s sealed with a thick globe of black wax. Levi taps his fingers on the table, next to the envelope. “This mark is from England, been there a while—”
“A while?” Levi interrupts.
Lovof nods. “Long enough that I couldn’t even begin to guess his age.”
“So what’s brought him across the channel?”
“That’s where things start to stray from their normal path. You know I don’t like to split bounties with those les goddams, but it doesn’t seem that there are any bounties on this one.”
At that, Levi raises an eyebrow. “They weren’t trying to hunt this one?”
“Not from what my sources tell me,” Lovof confirms. “It seems they left him alone, under the pretense that he leaves them alone.”
“You saying they made a deal with him?”
“I’m not sure it’s so much a deal as a one-sided understanding. Even if they claim he left them alone, you and I both know that’s not possible.”
“All monsters need to eat eventually,” Levi agrees. He traces the edge of the envelope with a single finger. “But so do I. What’s the offer?”
“500 Francs.”
Levi retracts his hand from the table. “Va te faire cuire un œuf, you think I’m going to do this at my normal rate?”
Lovof laughs, and pulls out a leather pouch from his coat. “300 Francs now, and another 500 when the job’s done.”
“That’s better,” Levi concedes. He snatches both the envelope and leather pouch off the table.
“I expect results before the first frost,” Lovof says as Levi collects his coat, adjusting his collar. “Usual proof of business will suffice.”
Levi merely nods as he pockets the folder and the bag of coin.
The walk back home is cool. Levi folds up the collar on his coat to protect his neck against the wind as he walks along the cobblestone street. “Can’t believe it’s this cold already,” Levi grumbles to himself. Although the change of season isn’t for another week, the chill of October is already in the air. Upon the sun’s dip below the horizon, it engulfed the city. The famous gas lanterns that dot the street flicker against the biting wind.
“Hey! Levi, is that you?” A voice calls from a dark doorway, just a few feet ahead.
“Depends.” Levi comes to a stop. “Who’s asking?”
“Ah, so it is you, petit poignard.”
Levi scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Thought you skipped town. Heard you found the company of those bloody English swine more appealing.”
Caven steps out into the light, a contemptuous smile adorning her face. “Am I not allowed to visit?”
“You’re not the sentimental type,” Levi huffs. He goes to step around her.
“Ha, can’t deny that.” She reaches out to grab Levi by his elbow. “I have a message. From Kenny.”
Before the name is fully out of her mouth, Levi twists her around on the street. He slams the taller blonde against a wall with a polished silver blade pressed to her throat.
“Well, look who’s all grown up!” Caven’s smile never falters, even with a knife at her neck. “He’d be proud of you.”
Levi doesn’t dignify her with a response but presses closer, a hair's breadth away from breaking skin. “What does he want?”
“Nothin’ for once. Just a warning.”
Levi narrows his eyes,.
“There’s a new bloke in town,” Caven continues. “One that’s going to garner attention, and fast.”
“Get to the fucking point, Caven,” Levi hisses.
“Don’t take the job.”
“I don’t remember hiring you as my keeper.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, mon p’tit.” Caven holds up her hands in a mock surrender. “I have other business to attend to. I was just being kind enough to do poor Ken a favor.”
Levi huffs, lowering the knife and stepping away. “Did he bother to give a reason?”
“Ha.” Caven's laugh is dry. “Kenny? Explain shit?”
“Kenny also doesn’t give warnings,” Levi counters.
“Well I hate to break it to ya, but the warning’s all you’re getting.”
Levi rolls his eyes at that and turns. “Figures.”
“No kind words in return for your dear uncle?” Caven calls after him.
The middle finger is all Levi offers as a response.
“You got a new job for us, frérot?” Isabel hollers as Levi walks through the door.
“Bordel, Iz, you’re gonna wake the whole damn neighborhood,” Levi scolds as he peels off his boots by the door.
“Yeah right.” Isabel’s laugh can be heard from their small kitchenette. “This block never sleeps.”
“She’s not wrong,” Furlan sighs from where he’s lounged across the sofa.
Levi kisses the back of his teeth before tossing the envelope and bag of coins onto the small table.
Furlan sits up and snatches the leather pouch first. “So you did get us a job.”
“No,” Levi says as he sits next to Furlan. “I got myself a job. You and Iz are sitting this one out.”
“What?” Isabel cries as she dashes into the living room.
“Since when do you take solo missions?” Furlan asks with narrowed eyes. He goes to swipe the envelope, but Levi gets there first.
“Since now.”
“And we’re just supposed to accept that with no explanation?” Isabel asks, trying to grab the sealed papers from him.
“Back off,” Levi grunts, shoving her away. “It’s a risky one, alright?”
Isabel doesn’t back down, crawling on top of Levi and forcing him to hold the envelope out of her reach. It gives Furlan an opening to grab it himself.
“Bastards,” he curses.
Furlan stands from the sofa before Levi can dislodge Isabel from where she now sits, cross legged, on Levi’s chest. He picks up a sleek letter opener from the table and cuts through the wax seal before pulling out the contents and skimming them over. It only takes a moment for his eyebrows to rise. He throws an accusatory look at Levi.
“Lovof?”
“So what?” Levi feigns indifference as he grabs Isabel by her sides, tossing her to the floor.
“So?” Isabel grunts as she pushes herself up from the hardwood. “I thought we swore off jobs from Lovof after what happened to Yan.”
Levi shrugs. “Can’t turn the pay down on this one.”
Furlan goes back to reading through the job. “This one sounds fuckin’ dangerous, Lee.”
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“Nothin' we haven’t dealt with before,” Furlan corrects. “You seriously think you can take this on alone?”
“Unknown age, residing in England,” Furlan spits the name of the neighboring country. “For the last century. Shit, this guys old.” He shakes his head, continuing to read through the details. “Residing in the fuckin’ Faubourg Saint-Germain neighborhood.” Furlan lowers the paper to glare at Levi. “You can’t be serious.”
“Just another suceur de sang,” Levi counters.
“One who’s survived and has resources. Connections too, if he’s made it this far,” Furlan argues. Isabel snatches the papers from him to look for herself.
“Connections don’t matter when there’s a stake rammed through your heart.”
“You think you’re indestructible!” Furlan’s voice rises. “You’re not one of them, merde, you’re mortal. Human.”
“If anything I’m the one wh—”
Isabel cuts between them, voice soft. “Frérot…This sounds like something straight out of one of those creepy stories.”
Levi scowls, but remains silent. He can never quite bring himself to yell at her. Instead, he takes the papers from her and folds them into a neat square that fits into the inner pocket of his waistcoat.
“Look, I know it’s going to be a dangerous hunt,” he says. "But I also know that I can handle it. I don’t want either of you involved with this or Lovof. Alright?”
At the reminder that this bounty is coming from Lovof, Furlan deflates. Isabel, on the other hand, clenches up. Levi knows the memories of Yan—of broken bones jutting out of skin, of blood—are still fresh in her mind.
When neither one of them says anything in reply, Levi nods.
“Good. Now if you’ll both give me a moment of peace, I’d like to go wash up.”
Samedi 15 Septembre 1866
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Erwin Smith
Past Residence — Belgravia, London (1743-1865)
Lorraine Region of the Holy Roman Empire (Unknown-1740)
Current Residence — Rue Barbet de Jouy dans Faubourg Saint-Germain (1866)
“Rich fuck…” Levi grumbles to himself as he rereads the bounty.
Illusive. No set schedule. Rarely leaves residence except to frequent the Bibliothèque Mazarine and Zoë Apothicaire.
Tailing this Erwin Smith along a path he frequents is foolish, and a rookie's mistake. Doing so would give his mark the upper hand, being both familiar with the lay of the land and more likely to notice if something were to be amiss. Instead, Levi watches him— blond hair, blue eyes, tall—waiting for him to deviate.
When Smith finally does, it’s to cross the Seine over the pont de Solférino. Levi gives chase once he’s across, following for a half-dozen blocks, careful to keep a distance. Finally, Smith ducks into a doorway, past a burly man guarding the entrance.
La Fleur Blanche.
Levi holds back. He knows this place, and has hunted around it plenty of times. It’s a well known establishment for humans unaware of the supernatural, and for the supernatural themselves. Vampires, like Smith, frequent it for an easy bite.
Victims — Unknown
“Bet he makes all his meals swoon first…”
Sighing, Levi falls back. He knows his mark will be a while, long enough to enjoy a warm meal and probably more. He also knows that there are other hunters near both the front and back entrances to the establishment; the vampires know this too, and are always cautious when leaving. Makes them harder to catch off guard—another rookie mistake.
Back at the bridge, Levi pulls out his cigarette case—a sleek silver box with filigree etchings. He lights one and slips the case back into his pocket, leaning against the railing while he breathes in the acrid tobacco smoke. It’s a nasty habit, filthy too, but Kenny made sure he knew how to take a long drag without coughing, and how to turn the smoke into rings on an exhale. Now, the warm smoke fills his lungs and sedates his nerves while he waits for his mark.
He counts the stars while he waits.
He starts picking out the constellations. Lyra catches his eye first, the bright northern star Vega twinkling against the deep blue canvas of the sky. He traces the nonexistent line down to the next star. Then over and around. It’s a small constellation after all, with only five stars.
Cygnus follows next, the southern tip of the swan resting near the bottom of Lyra’s harp. The stars interconnect like fine bones in Levi’s mind, forming wings. He remembers the myths his mother once told him, sitting atop the roof of their small flat on a clear night sky—of Zeus transforming into a swan to seduce a Spartan Queen by the name of Leda. He remembers not understanding what it meant to seduce someone at the time and bites back a small huff of laughter at his childish naivety.
What was her favorite constellation? Ah, there it is—
His mother always loved Delphinus. Even smaller than Lyra, its five stars are close together in a tight box shape. The tail of the constellation dips downwards towards—
A thud, then pain, then darkness.
The first thing that crosses Levi’s mind when he wakes up is where is the next star?
When he opens his eyes, he’s not met with the inky dark of the night sky, but instead an endless expanse of riveting ice blue.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a deep voice coos.
Levi groans as he feels a dull throb against the back of his head. He tries to touch it to feel for injury, but finds his fingers full of pinpricks, numb above his head. And then he realizes that he can’t move them, that there’s something fibrous and scratchy rubbing against his wrists. He’s bound to a hardwood table, in an unfamiliar room—the walls a bright saffron color. There’s a chandelier dangling from the ceiling above him, made of bronze and casting a warm glow from a series of lit candles.
Realization breaks through the fog clouding Levi’s mind, causing him to lurch upwards, only to get caught on the ropes tying him down.
“Shhh,” the voice above him soothes. “You’re alright, mon chevalier.”
“What the fuck?” Levi shouts, twisting against his bindings.
A hand grips his jaw and the smooth fingertips are slabs of ice against his flesh.
“Stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
With his head held steady, Levi is able to better take in his captor’s appearance. Blond hair, parted and combed down with pomade. Blue eyes that make Levi think of the wide open sky on a sunny day. Tall. Broad shoulders. A sharp nose to match a sharp jawline and cheekbones. Thick eyebrows.
“Smith.”
“Oh? Now that’s terribly unfair, you knowing my name ahead of time. We haven’t even been properly introduced.” Smith grins as he talks.
“My name won’t matter for long,” Levi hisses. He turns his head sharply, dislodging Smith’s fingers from his face.
Smith’s grin widens. “And pray tell, why is that?”
Levi scoffs. “Why don’t you come closer and find out?”
It’s a dangerous goad, but one that’s worked in Levi’s favor before—but Smith doesn’t take the bait, turning away from Levi.
“My apologies, but I’m not one for respecting orders.”
Levi glowers at the vampire, shifting his wrists to catch the knot between them. “Then it appears we’re at an impasse, because I sure as shit don’t respect un suceur de sang.”
Smith looks over his shoulder. “Feisty.”
“Vas te faire foutre.”
As Smith turns around, Levi’s eyes immediately drop to his hands.
A blade.
Merde.
Smith lunges, slamming the tip of the blade into the wooden table Lev’s tied to—right between his fingers. The sharp edge catches the tip of his pointer finger, and Smith licks his lips as a bead of blood forms.
“I’m not particularly hungry right now.” Smith’s voice drops an octave, seeping into Levi’s skin like smoke, turning the marrow of his bones heavy. “So I’d prefer if you listen closely. Should we continue this farce of cat and mouse, I think it’s only fair that all participants be aware before the hunt commences.”
“You think this is a game?” Levi hisses.
“I do.” Smith leans down close to Levi’s face, never removing his hand from the hilt of the blade. “It’s nothing more than a gamble for the both of us. One where we roll the dice of fate. One of us is bound to live, and the other—” His breath is cool against Levi’s throat— “perishes.”
Levi shifts, quick as a cat, and throws his weight back so that the rope catches on the edge of the knife. It doesn’t cut all the way through, but it’s enough—Levi is able to snap free of his bindings.
Smith is quick on his feet, stepping backwards and out of Levi’s reach without so much as blinking.
“A game, huh?” Venom drips from Levi’s lips as he frees his legs just as swiftly. “Then why don’t you come and play?”
“My, my,” Smith breathes, “I haven’t faced such a promising opponent in a long while.”
Levi ignores him, lunging towards the vampire as soon as he’s unbound. He drops the knife that Smith used at the last moment, feinting to his left while pulling out a blade of his own—one made of silver.
Smith turns, keeping Levi in his line of sight. Levi catches the flash of pearly white teeth, the sharp point of canines—
And then Smith is gone.
“Shit—”
On instinct he ducks, slipping between Smith’s hands. He rolls backwards, trying to slip between Smith’s open legs, but he’s punished for his arrogance when Smith’s boot pins him to the ground. It doesn’t hold for long—Levi swipes his blade forward, narrowly missing Smith’s calf as he’s forced to retreat away from Levi, lest he end up burned by the silver.
Before Levi can regain his footing, Smith is on him again. Fingers of ice wrap around his wrists, pushing till his back collides with a credenza. Smith doesn’t stop until he’s arched painfully, curved over the edge.
“As fun as this is,” Smith says, “I’d hate to ruin the fun prematurely.” Levi winces as he crushes Levi’s wrists in his grip. He kicks once, but Smith easily dodges, pinning his legs in place with his own. It draws their bodies flush against one another, warm skin against frigid slate.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Smith continues, ignoring both the dagger and the way Levi struggles in his hold. “We’ll have a fair game from here on out. I know that you’re hunting me, and you know that I’m expecting you to strike. Should make for an interesting match, no?”
“Arrogant son of a—”
“The Equinox,” Smith interrupts. “Will you schedule me in for our next round?”
Levi balks. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. You clearly have no interest in my normal routine. The next time I’ll be deviating from it will be during the Equinox.”
Infuriated at Smith for his blatant accuracy, Levi’s blood boils viciously—turning his stomach, acid bubbling up his throat. He decides to change his tack. “Fine. The Equinox. I assume you have a location in mind?”
“Naturally” Smith grins, maintaining his punishing grip, “the sorcières are hosting a feast and ceremony in the northern region of the Bois de Boulogne.”
“Of course.” Levi says through gritted teeth.
“Excellent. Now, I hate to be a terrible host, but—” Smith twists Levi’s wrist sharply enough to drop Levi’s blade, forcing him to bite his lip to keep from crying out. “I have a rather busy schedule today.”
And then he’s gone, leaving behind nothing but a ghost of a whisper that curls around the shell of Levi’s ear.
“I shall be looking forward to our next meeting, mon chevalier.”