Such a poor unfortunate soul she was. Her bold race across the sand had been almost...endearing. Perhaps he would have even enjoyed that chase if not for the fistful of sand that had struck him in the face. Those scratching, irritating grains having rapidly crushed any sense of whimsy the vampire might have had for toying more gently with his meal. Yet poor little Raylin had achieved little from her efforts. She had reached her bag, she had reached her gun and yet even as she stood before him, trembling with fear and with sweat all but pouring from her- she had hardly thought to remove the safety. Her mind, it seemed, had been far too filled with fear to process that thought. Her single, bold move for survival had backfired. Hmmm. It was almost comical really. Perhaps that was how he would remember her. The comical little dolt who had tried to shoot him. Darcy's gaze broke away from that pointed gun only long enough to eye her bleeding leg. That scent was potent. The intoxicating aroma wafted within the air like an alluring perfume that called so distinctly to his predatory nature and flooded his mouth with saliva in an anticipation of a meal. He need only toy with her for just a moment more. Tp punish her, yes, that's what he would do. Punish her for her insolence agianst him. Those very words about her gun had no sooner fallen from his lips then a rush of vampiric speed saw the southern cowboy disappear. Darcy s effortlessly raced forward to dodge around her and come from behind. His arm wrapped around her waist like a steel vice. Her warm, terrified body pulled agianst him.
Her body stiffened agianst him. A fear response. As if her every muscle knew what was about to come. Oh how tempting it was to continue to taunt her if only to watch her body respond. Coaxing that fear from within it was....an art. One Risque had spent years teaching him to perfect. His Mistress had always been so...fascinated by the inside of those flesh and bones and how they moved and yet Darcy had always been far more inclined to enjoy the taste. How very uncivilised of him. His lips pressed smoothly to the side of Raylins neck. That desire to smell the blood beneath her skin prompted the vampires need to breathe. That cool breath brushed agianst her flesh like an icy chill as his lips caressed that skin like a gentle prelude to the violent intent that lingered beneath. Her body shuddered agianst him, though whether from his closeness or the sensation of his lips as he searched for a vein Darcy hardly knew. How easy it would be to end her here and now and yet....it was better that she was punished first. He disliked sand in his eyes after all. A bite to the shoulder would render her nothing but pain. His double fangs incapable of offering anything less. His lack of venom affording her no relief from the tear and slash and puncture of muscle and tendon he intended to inflict and yet first...
His free hand reached out to ensnare her own, those final words were little more than an utterance agianst her neck, calling out her mistake with that safety switch as he reaches to flick it off- before his fangs dove downward to embed themselves within her shoulder. Raylin's entire body seemed to jerk. Little more than a strangled whimper manages to pass her lips as she leans into him in that response to shock and pain. His grip tightened upon her as that blood rushed to meet him. His teeth and tongue were rapidly bathed in that substance he craved. Darcy was nothing but greedy as he fed, mouthful after mouthful swallowed with lustful desire. It is the sound that distracts him. The explosive crack of gunfire that was twice as loud to his own far more sensitive hearing. Darcy's head jerked upward. His teeth released from her flesh in a purely instinctive response to that sound, her body falling away from him- before that pain suddenly seems to flare. A feral hiss was spat from his lips ina near bizarre delayed response to the realisation she had shot him in the foot. That bloodlust haze so very potent he had hardly seemed to notice until now. That little bitch. Yet with that blood still coursing through his veins and coating his lips there is little humanity left. That vampire, so interrupted within his feeding and before he was fully sated, was far more....animalistic than human. Darcy had so always struggled with...control.
Raylin's scream of frustrated outrage pierced the air before the sound of that gunfire echoed again. That singeing, burning pain, this time- ricoheted within his own shoulder. His own blood was quick to rush to the surface, leaking through that perfect hole within his jacket to drip down onto the cement below. That sudden silence was near...errie. Darcy's gaze shifted to his shoulder- as if that wound was near...bemusing. His gaze staring silently at that bullet wound for several seconds before his head rotated toward Raylin once more. Those mismatched eyes fixating upon her with singular purpose.
"Ya shot me."
It was barely more than a whisper from his bloodied lips.That disturbing silence seemed to settle over them once more as the final reams of smoke from that gun warped within the air before blowing away in the breeze. Darcy's lips parted once more and yet- that very sound that emitted from them was so hardly human in any sense. That purely animalistic, vampiric roar all but obliterated the silence. Those blood-stained fangs were readily exposed to the light of the moon in all their terrifying glory. That rush of speed that followed was near blistering, a single dodge step was offered to avoid any further shots the girl might fire before Raylin was seized within his grasp. Darcy made entirely sure to grasp her by her injured shoulder and hoist her upward with his own good arm until her feet dangled from the floor. Raylin left to flail in his grasp like a doll.
"I am gunna rip yar apart limb by fuckin limb."
Maybe he would start toe by toe. Tearing each from her foot while she screamed. Darcy's grip tightened upon her, his throbbing shoulder all but an annoyance for now. Darcy! Hey Darcy! Darcy? For fucks sake, DARCY! That shouting voice was little more than background noise. The vampire all but oblivious to it for several moments before that sound so finally managed to pierce the blood haze of his mind. Ian. Ian had recovered from his own bullet wound it seemed. The soaking wet vampire lingered behind him with little more than a scar to his forehead to show for the wound he'd received an hour ago. Ian continued to linger as Darcy paused. The other vampire unwilling to get any closer to the far more dominant being whom held his pretty in his hand even despite the temptation of the scent. Ian, this time, was wise to keep his eyes down, refusing to make eye contact like a dog trying to avoid a fight. Ian knew Darcy well. They had worked together for years and yet....Ian well understood his place. That vampire hierarchy was meticulous. Ian took that opportunity of Darcy's pause to continue. We need to go. There's about six Hunters down the far side of the beach, come to see the Ark wreckage. They heard the shots. They're coming this way. Forget her.
Darcy's gaze shifted to peer into the darkness of the beach. The faintest scent of those very Hunters on the breeze readily saw his features twist in disdain once more. Surely....there was time to finish Raylin before they came? His gaze turned back toward her, his lips parting to bite again. Darcy, we don't- Another sharp hiss from the vampiric cowboy readily saw Ian step even further back. Wow, wow, alright, fuck man, calm down. I ain't touching your dinner and I'm standing all the way over here. Mate, we need to go. She'll be pissed if we lead Hunters home. That, it seemed, was enough to prompt Darcy's grip on Raylin to loosen. The woman all but dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Risque would be more than displeased if they were forced to deal with Hunters tonight. Besides, he would need to remove that bullet from his shoulder- and from his foot, if it was still embedded, before his Mistress discovered them.
Raylin, it seemed, would live another night. How very unfortunate. A single, final glare was given towar the little dolt of a woman who'd managed to shoot him before Darcy and Ian both bled back into that night, leaving those approaching Hunters to offer the woman their precious first aid.
We are rough men and used to rough ways.