AN: yo I'm back with another chapter! Thank you all for your nice reviews!
I'm going to actually finish this story, I've promised myself that. Also going to try and make the chapters longer; they're just bridging on 2500 words, which isn't the longest. enjoy!
"Where is your horse?"
"I told you, Mr Ackerman." Ral took a deep breath and struggled to keep her composure. He could tell by the way she forced a polite smile and clenched her hands into her skirts. "I had to leave her at a nearby stable. A wh-pleasure girl isn't usually seen with a horse." She glanced at the brothel across the road, at the women throwing themselves at any well-dressed man who walked by. She tugged her neckline up a little self-consciously.
Levi looked her up and down. If anyone had looked closely enough at her, they could tell she was no cheap prostitute. Her skin was too well scrubbed, her fingernails clean, her dress clear of any smut or dirt. It wasn't just her attire or state of hygiene. Her face; big honey brown eyes, small nose, defined cupid's-bow lips, long ginger hair; even with all the powder and kohl on her face, nothing screamed prostitute.
A prostitute residing in Rose, anyway. He'd never seen a Sina mistress, but he imagined they would look like Lady Ral. Levi tore his eyes away from her face and directed his attention to his horse. "For someone so intent on keeping up appearances, you don't seem very motivated to keep up the 'grieving widow,' facade." Levi said blandly, untying the reins from a fence post. Ral gave him a cold look. "My personal business is none of your concern, Mr Ackerman." She said tightly, turning away. "We are on a job. I'll retrieve my horse and then we should have no more delays."
"How far away is the stable?"
"A block or so away. I won't slow you down; I can keep up with your horse at a trot-"
She squeaked as his hands suddenly gripped her waist and lifted her up onto his horse, a surprisingly smooth transition for someone barely taller than she was. Her slim fingers wrapped around his wrists in an effort to prise him off, but he had already released her and swung up to sit in front.
"Mr Ackerman!" Ral chided breathlessly. Even in the low light of the tavern he could see she was bright pink. "That was inappropriate-"
"Stop talking," He cut her off, gripping the reins and spurring the horse along. "If you had walked alongside my horse, then those whores wouldn't have stopped pestering to get past you to try and convince me they would have better services and slowed us down. And for fucks sake button your cloak up."
He could feel the intensity of her icy glare from behind him.
Tugging at the reins, he made a sharp turn around a corner, following the directions she had said earlier. There was a rustle behind him, the unmistakeable sound of someone slipping off a horse, and her thighs clenched around his instinctively. She murmured a hasty apology.
"Have you never ridden with someone before?" Levi hissed, not turning to look at her. "Just hold on."
Very hesitantly, she wound her arms around his waist, holding them gingerly, supporting her own weight instead of leaning on him, as if he would burn her. "The stable is just up ahead," she said quietly, her lips so close to his ear he could feel her breath on his skin, warm in the night air. He repressed the urge to twitch away. The last time he'd been close with someone was Isabel hugging him, and even then he'd pushed her away affectionately. He was so tense he could feel every shift she made, every brush of bare skin against his, her soft hair tickling his neck. He was so unused to human contact he wanted nothing more than to push her away and scrub himself off- though what he'd be scrubbing off he didn't know, she was fucking nobility, she didn't get dirty-
He was so caught in up with his own thoughts he didn't realise how fidgety Ral was getting, trying to inch away from him as much as she could on a horse.
"Oh! There it is!" She jumped off before he had even slowed down, her boots skidding on the gravel. The stable hand, who was snoring against a water trough, jerked awake. Groggily, he lead her steed out, handed her the reins, and collapsed onto a hay bale. Ral leapt onto her horse and galloped past him. "Come on!" She yelled out to him. He watched her for a moment, when a flicker in the streetlights caught his attention and he spun around, but it was only his shadow, emerging from the darkness. His shadow, who was…staring after Ral, and for the first time, he swore he could see the closest thing to emotion on its face. It was frowning.
Before Levi could analyse it anymore, it slunk back into the shadows. Ral whistled from ahead, staring back at him. "Mr Ackerman?" She called out. "Is something wrong?"
Wordlessly, he rode past her. Ral grumbled something behind him, and didn't attempt to catch up.
Petra was no stranger to working with others. She is part of a special group in the Legion, comprised of the best soldiers, working in sync with three other men. Pulling off jobs that other soldiers could only ever dream about required complete trust, incredible coordination, and civil communication. It's funny, she thought once. Her closest friendships, people she would consider family, developed from killing. They each had their own quirks, habits, aspects of their nature she had grown so used to, even if they did piss her off sometimes. Before that, she had trained with many others for combat and mock-assignments. Of course, she had encountered people with clashing personalities, but they had both dismissed them quickly enough to get the job done. It was impossible not to develop a connection with whoever you were working with; it was a necessity.
Staring at the back of Levi Ackerman, however, she resisted the urge to slap him off his high horse - literally. Connection be damned; he was abrasive, blunt, crass, and every other terrible quality she could think of. He always had a stoic, emotionless expression on his face, betraying no hint of his thoughts, and his movements were sharp, precise, deadly. His eyes were shadowed, guarded, a look she'd seen in countless other veterans. There was an air of dangerous unease around him that set Petra on edge. There was no mistaking it; he was a killer who had possibly killed his own humanity in the process.
But she could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was just an asshole.
Emerging from the narrow, packed Rose streets onto the wider country paths, she sped up to his pace and rode beside him silently. He didn't attempt any conversation, so neither did Petra. He didn't want to talk; his body language spoke enough words on its own. The silence was oddly welcoming; she almost forgot he was there and lapsed back into her own thoughts. Returning to the manor felt oddly empty without her husband there.
The funeral was held three days ago. It was a grand affair, but she could only recall the odd details, like the intricate carvings on the coffin, or the stark contrast of the white roses against the black gowns, not the eulogy or the faces of any of the guests.
As his wife, she stood at the front in her darkest dress (with an appropriate neckline, of course) dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She was thankful for the wide berth all the friends and family gave her; if anyone came too close they might have noticed her handkerchief was completely dry. As everyone filed out of the church hall, Petra had stood at the door, thanking everyone for attending, searching for the murderer.
It had been raining when he was lowered into the ground. Petra laid a specially-grown red rose on his coffin, watching the rain drip down the petals forlornly. His mother had sobbed beside her openly, and Petra wrapped a comforting arm around her, tugging the sleeve of her dress down to hide finger-shaped bruises on her wrists.
She heaved a sigh, and Mr Ackerman glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Petra gave him a tentative smile, which he didn't return. His eyes moved past her face to behind her and he stiffened. Quicker than lightening, his hand disappeared into his coat and Petra caught the glint of a knife. Before she could say anything, it sailed past her, dangerously close to her face, close to taking her eye out. Petra yelped and rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "What the fuck-"
"There was someone following us." Mr Ackerman said simply, raising an eyebrow at her language. Petra spluttered. "Your automatic response is to kill them?"
He regarded her coldly and said nothing. Petra slid off her horse and flicked on her gas lantern, darting forward to where the knife landed. He had thrown with calculating precision, with enough force to sink it hilt-deep into a human's face; but there was no dead body. There was no body at all.
She looked back at the country lane. There were eight hoof-prints in the sandy ground, but no human footsteps. Mr Ackerman watched her from his horse. "Are you certain we were being followed?" She asked. He shrugged. "My instincts are never wrong."
Petra pried the knife out of the ground, brushing off the dirt and grass and raising her lantern, shining light on every possible hiding spot for a spy. There was no rustle, no heavy breathing, no blood, no indication that Mr Ackerman's aim had been off and they had dragged themselves to safety quickly. She held it a little higher, and saw her shadow slink back into the darkness, out of the light. With a sigh, she turned back to her horse-
"There." Mr Ackerman said suddenly, pointing to a spot a metre behind her. "They're right there."
Whipping around, Petra reached for a small blade hidden in her sleeve, prepared to fight. Mr Ackerman joined her, pointing at nothing- or rather, her shadow. It had a deep wound in it's face, the spot where his knife would have landed; directly in the forehead. Black blood dripped down it's pale, haunting face like ink. Petra grimaced. "That's just- you can see it?"
Mr Ackerman gave her a strange look. "Should I not be able to?" He took the knife from her and pointed the blade at Petra's shadow, who glared at him in return. Petra gaped at him. "No! You shouldn't- no one should!"
"You have one too." He said, his voice empty. "Can you see mine?"
Stepping away from her, he grabbed the lantern, careful not to let their fingers brush. Directing the beam behind him, Petra caught a glimpse of a figure, a look-alike of Mr Ackerman before it ducked away.
If Petra was intimidated by Mr Ackerman, she was terrified by his shadow. It's eyes were completely dead, hair matted with blood, skin paler than a sheet of paper. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Mr Ackerman mounted his horse and tossed the lantern back to her. "Come on. We'll never make it to Sina by sunrise."
"What- Don't you want to discuss this?"
"No." With that, he galloped into the night. Petra watched the sand billow up from his steed. "You have got to be kidding." She whispered to herself. There was no one around to hear her, but she thought she imagined her shadow shift slightly at her words.
Mr Ackerman stared up at the imposing manor. Petra unsaddled both their horses and lead them to the stable, promising him that they would be safe there for now. Scribbling down a quick note for the stable hands, she pinned it to the door and watched him for a moment. "Can you scale the wall?" Petra asked, stepping out of reach from his shadow. She pointed to her bedroom window, three stories off the ground. "That's my window. It's alright if you can't-"
He was halfway up the wall before she finished her sentence. In the next few seconds, he had slipped in through her unlocked window and out of sight.
Show off. Petra clambered up, not nearly as graceful as him, but steady enough. As she reached upwards for the ledge, one of her feet gave out from under her, slipping off the tiny alcove she was leaning her weight on. She scrabbled for the ledge but she was barely holding on by her fingertips, desperately trying to regain her footing, when a hand shot out from the window and grabbed her wrists, pulling her up into the room. The second her feet touched the carpet, Mr Ackerman released her, running a finger over her dresser and inspecting the dust with a scowl.
"Thanks." Petra said sheepishly. He said nothing in reply.
She stifled a yawn. They had a few hours until the carriage arrived to take them to the palace, and she wanted to sleep for at least half of it. Grabbing a towel, she dipped it in a cold basin of water and scrubbed at her face. "There's a guest bedroom across the hall." She said, wiping hard at her eyes; kohl was a chore to take off. "You can sleep in there until we arrive at the palace."
"As long as it's clean." He replied. She heard the soft padding of his feet across the room, his shadow no doubt dragging behind. "Wait."
He stopped moving, and Petra knew she had his attention. "Can anyone else see your shadow?"
"No."
Petra paused, sighing so quietly there was no way he heard it. He grunted. "And I bet no one else can see yours. Have you ever told anyone?"
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
Petra was silent. She'd be lying if she said she never considered it, but she was a lady of nobility through marriage; if anyone found out she was seeing demons trailing after her, she would be shipped off back to her humble house in Rose quicker than she could say assassin. Her high status was what allowed her to get close to her victims, people that recruits from the slums would never get access to. Erwin valued her usefulness greatly. She couldn't afford to throw it all away because she was getting paranoid.
"Duty calls, Mr Ackerman." She said finally, soaking the makeup out of the towel. He laughed bitterly. She almost jerked off her chair in shock to hear him make a sound other than grunts. "Of course. Everyone knows a thing or two about fucking duty."
"You should know better than anyone," Petra said, almost absentmindedly. "Your duty is to Erwin. More so than the average Legion soldier. I would admire your dedication if you had joined the Legion of your own free will."
He paused, mulling over her words. "You really are good for something." He said. Petra swivelled around. He was eyeing her thoughtfully, not at all the annoyed expression Petra had expected. She shrugged. "Noble men aren't always noble. Reading people is easy when liars aren't good at what they do."
"Or you're too perceptive for liars to get away with it, Lady Ral."
"Please, call me Petra." She blurted. 'Lady Ral' only passed the lips of people trying to win her favour. Mr Ackerman was anything but that.
"Petra." He repeated. "Levi, then."
"Levi." His name sounded strange on her tongue. She smiled up at him and he looked away, his hand on the door handle. "Goodnight, Levi."
"Night, Petra."
AN: I feel like the characters are slightly ooc, sorry. The format might be a bit weird; I write it on Google docs then copy and paste it and just add in the line breaks. I'll try and have the next chapter up in a week or so. Thank you for reading!
