out for blood
she's somethin' so cold-blooded with
a deep killer instinct
The caretaker was abandoned and left for dead writhing upon the floor in his own private hell, his weak croaking cries filled the night, not even the crickets sang their nightly song. He would live but, his mind would be scarred. Not even the wind dared to whisper as though it trembled beneath Risque's power. Darcy had already returned to the black truck with the moonshine clasped within his hand, all too willing to clear away any of those dredged up truths that lingered like disturbed dirt and grime at the bottom of the lake. It clouded him. As the past always had that way.
Risque surveyed the wreckage once more with cold impassive eyes, relishing within the glory of that destruction. Such power. It radiated from him in the form of dark energy. It was a pity there was nothing else for him to destroy. That she didn't utilize all that charged energy in some way. To fuck and fight. Or vice versa. It hardly mattered what came first. That release would have been spectacular. It would have been easy to pluck at the seams and make that proverbial dam burst and yet it was that lack of blood and this wretched place that ruined her mood. At the very least there was a sense of closure to this forsaken mud pit. Yet.. its demise and closure would only make him stronger.
His past held him back. Even if her cowboy hardly realized it. She found a piece of a crumbled gravestone in which she stomped like a bug beneath her heel, crushing it into dusty ruin within the soil. She had enough of this place. She had garnered perhaps more than she had bargained for and yet... somewhere within her mind's eye, it was necessary. The South would not be a place in which she would pine for, for that much she was certain.
The midnight haired devil moved toward the rumbling vehicle, a plume of exhaust unceremoniously wafting upwards into the dazzling night sky. The waiting vehicle door opened as if he was unwilling to skip a beat even in his emotional state. He had already guzzled a noticeable amount of that potent substance before he, in turn, offered her that bottle, with an encouragement to try it. Risque was unwilling to believe Mary-Beth was capable of producing anything halfway decent even with Darcy's apparent taste for it.
Darcy already eager enough to set the truck in high gear, his lead food an obvious indication that he finished with that pitiful barren ranch. After what was left he could possibly want? It was a black hole. Perhaps there was some logic to signing it away and yet... how certain she was that he would level it all to the ground.
She tasted that vile drink... that distaste blatant. Darcy nearly running them into a tree to observe that very look, jerking the wheel to return them on the dirt road in an instant. That glare offered abruptly. Darcy was not a poor driver by any means. But he drove like a crazed lunatic now! But the taste of the drink. She could not rid her tastebuds of it. Battery acid. No. Jet fuel. That's what this toxic waste was. Her lip curled in distaste. No. Paint remover. It smelled so strong it nearly singed her nose. Yet for some reason, she continued to bring that 'moon juice' to her lips once more. Again and again, in fact. Even with that fresh complaint upon her tongue she still hardly faltered. She could not remember how long it was since she drank like this. Sure she drank in wine, or a drink from her bar, something to soothe and produced a fabricated calm amongst calamity. But never to drink, truly drink. No, she had always needed her mind sharpened like a blade, not hazy with alcohol. Yet tonight, amidst the deranged madness that seemed to infiltrate the south, she didn't care.
The vampiress swallowed that alcohol like a woman who believed it would not have its effects. She was beyond mere mortals after all. It shouldn't in any rate, not truly, alcohol didn't affect vampires in the same with their superior systems even though Mary-Beth claimed this was different.
The fact that Darcy drove like a lunatic should have been fair warning. But she was much older than he was. His words filled the cabin of the truck, justifying the drink's wretched taste. It wasn't meant to taste good. Ha.
"I can tell." She uttered abruptly, narrowed eyes examing the bottle before her eyes. Foolish Mary-Beth and her business whims. Thinking she could sell piss water with her fanciful labels under Risque's name. She did not possess a knack for business. No, not like herself. Risque was unaware of the way that burning liquid in her veins began to work its sinister influence. Her cowboy swerved, the liquid sloshing about at Darcy's ridiculous driving! She hissed! She would be damned if she died the true death in fiery wreckage within the south! He claimed a raccoon to be the culprit and yet she saw no vermin, only a mailbox he so diligently avoided! Did he forget to drive at all? Perhaps she should take that cursed wheel herself!
Risque was soon to forget all that would inspire her lack of patience with her lover,, for now, her mind wholly fixed upon her grievances with the southern woman they had initially visited. She hardly forgot of Darcy's little temper tantrum, nor all he had revealed to her... Irritation found her as she spoke, that drunken haze began to sneakily needle away inside of her head. Darcy quick to agree, claimed her husband was a fool. Ah, when would he realized they were wading in a world full of fools? He acted like ti still surprised him! Every last one them! All.. Fools. His question about the couple seemed entirely left field and she was content to answer. She paused even in spite of herself took another sip of the cursed brew before she leaned back into that chair allowing the bottle to dangle precariously from her fingertips as if curious if it would fall.
She was unaware of Darcy's intense fixation on the road ahead, his internal struggle and will to stay in those painted lines on the road. "A little over a century. Her longest husband amongst many. She went through them like she changes her ridiculous.... Hats." Time was a strange thing, but she had remembered this. The beginning of Wyatt and Mary-Beth. "When she met him, she was married to another. Wyatt challenged and killed him in a duel. With Mary-Beth's blessing, of course, they were sleeping together far beyond that... I was there, the night that they met." Ah, but Mary-Beth's life had always been a drama! How that husband and wife managed to not kill each other was beyond her. It would seem Wyatt was different than the rest. Who would have thought? Risque's pale gaze shifted toward's Darcy then, casually kicking up her boots to rest upon the dash, one leg crossed over the other as she seemed to admire her peculiar boots before she uttered that the alcohol was not working.
She commented that she felt nothing. Not a damn thing! But that was the thing about alcohol. It snuck up on you when you least expected it. Why she subjected herself to that taste she hardly knew? How wrong she was... Darcy told her she must tell Mary-Beth of her failure. A sound of complete agreement escaped her. "You better believe I will tell her. I won't let her live this one down. She needs to be lowered a few pegs if she thinks I would ever sell this! She might run a coven... but she will always be an ant." A queen ant. Maybe. But she could still easy crush them beneath her shoe. " She will be forever exiled in her own shame." That single syllable of what seemed like amusement escaped her lips as she envisioned yet another outburst.
Risque then grumbled about that party they were invited to. She had no desire to meet another person in this hole of a town tonight. What she would give to have someone to eat. Far away from this small-minded mentality. She wanted to strip from those dusty boots and those newly bought clothing and wear something far more her. Yes, that sounded far more appealing than some party. Perhaps she might make Darcy rub her feet only after the pair had their fill of that much-needed blood.
Darcy began with a compliment before insisting they had to go, some backwards thinking that a man was as good as his word. As though it truly mattered in this very place. As if he cared what they thought. What did he mean have to? Her lip curled in disdain before the mention of wusses. In a moment she drew her legs in and down, sitting upward. "I am no wuss." She interjected suddenly as if offended by some accusation that clearly wasn't there. "Though, there are far too many. Perhaps shooting them would be a good practice to adopt in France and Sacrosanct." She scoffed, as though the mere thought of cowards seemed to further irk her. "Then we go and that is final. But I will murder every last person if I don't feed on someone." She announced haughtily as if it were her own idea. Foolish south and their foolish ways.
Little did Risque know that she was in far more than she bargained for.
It wasn't long before the vampire pair made their way to that distant field. A party in the barn? What were they farm animals? Risque looked on with a sense of judgement even though it was packed with people. The sound of lively music thudded and met her sensitive ears as they drove on the grass to park! The truck seemed to bounce with every groove and tire print within the ground despite the vehicles excellent suspension. The inviting, twinking of dainty little led lights illuminated the barn along with the smell of fire that tickled her nostrils. A bonfire no doubt. There were sounds of boisterous people, the roar of engines and she swore she saw a child! A child? How she loathed children.
What was this place?
There were so many conflicting scents, abrasive sound... and a horse?! She hadn't seen it before until she peered out the window. But it was parked right next to their vehicle like someone still used a horse as a proper mode of transportation anymore. Everything about this place seemed backwards. It was like they had stepped back in time perhaps and they were rubbing elbows amongst the poor. How a vague memory seemed to threaten to rise to the surface like mist that soon dissipated once more. In fact, her mind rarely lingered upon one thing at all for long.
Darcy opened her door, eyeing the bay bare that seemed to be keeping an all-too watchful eye. Darcy's voice rang out in warning. She swung her leg over, as she slid off, landing upon her feet, only then noticing a strange rushing feeling to her head and balance. Oh, that was strange. Surely it was because she hadn't had blood in hell knows how long, although, she had gone days and it hardly affected her in this manner. "I am not afraid of any horse.... But it's watching me funny..." Risque announced unable to find that scepticism, eyeing the mare suspiciously, taking another drink before throwing the empty bottle back into the truck. She didn't finish the rest, did she? She frowned at the hazy memory of it as she began to move without Darcy, as though she had forgotten him entirely! She moved toward the barn door, focusing that she walked in a straight line as if to prove to herself she was fine.
Darcy was quick to find her side, the vampire queen all but vaguely aware of his presence with so much to look at, oblivious to how closely he lingered as if to deem her his own. Humans... there were many of them...peppered throughout vampires... Like equals. How... strange this place was. The scent of barn and animal assaulted her as she wrinkled her nose, would it hurt to sanitize? It took away from the cloying scent of blood... and yet she was probably far under the sway of moonshine to truly care. There was far too much to see, to take in. This was like no party she would ever attend and yet here she stood, hardly minding as much as she should have.
Pitched shrieks of joy and a bustling of lively activity transpired around them that she nearly missed the being Darcy seemed fixated upon. That rare idle comment offered to someone passing 'stranger'. She hardly lifted her head to notice those boots, nor did she care. No... the sight she was absorbing was atrocious enough, it was like a twisted carnival of people to entertain her.
That was until those french masculine lyrics permeated the air. Her head pivoted so fast she had to rely on, leaning against Darcy to keep herself from swaying nor stumbling. Something about that voice sounded far too familiar. Darcy spoke of the man sounding like her. She had to find him. Was that him in the plaid? She gripped onto Darcy's arm tighter to steady herself. She just about shouted in french to stop but the man had already disappeared through the crowd as if he didn't exist at all. As though he was but a figment. A ghost. She had wondered if she had imagined it. No... but Darcy had heard and seen. There was a sweet scent that vaguely reached out of the overpowering scents that disappeared as quick as it came, how she wished she could grasp it and yet it was hopeless.
"I will find him..." She mumbled and almost set off to do that as she still grasped at her lover which prevented her from doing so completely. Yet the entire movement made her feel a little off. "Later." She added. How later would never come. She thought, momentarily of asking Darcy what the man looked like... and yet the thought was lost and replaced by another fleeting thought.
Risque was no stranger to stares. The moment they walked into the threshold of those open barn doors, as though they could sense outsiders within their midst. It was then that a yell emitted from within as Risque blatantly gawked at the loose animals and children alike. They were certainly an uncivilized breed. "Do they not know how to contain their animals?" Children were included within that statement as she all but stared at the little unsupervised rugrat. She watched as Clay all but stepped over the obstacles, hardly bothered the chaos.
He seemed genuinely content to see them and yet Risque was so very distracted by the madness afoot, a hand perched upon her hip. She barely seemed aware of the excited vampire. That supposed friend of Darcy's. It was the mention of Roscoe that drew her astute gaze toward the casual cop that clearly possessed some kind of clout within that room. "He doesn't make strange." Risque commented idly, such a vague comment it could have been about anyone. Even she knew the formalities of a party. One must always show their appreciation to the host. Risque was certain her presence was enough.
It looked like a costume party, everyone dressed in their very best jeans and cowboy hats. They all spoke with a thick drawl, some possessed accents as thick as Darcy's while. How little did she care for those hushed murmurs she heard as she passed as she walked through them like a queen among sheep. Perhaps.... A slightly intoxicated queen... not that she would admit it.
How the world seemed to bleed into one around her, all Risque could care about was a sensation and smell. Her hunger rose within her as the faint scent of mortals ebbed and flowed from her grasp, any one of them would do at this rate. But exuberant Clay had led the way, chattering happily about Roscoe. Who exactly was this Roscoe? Clay seemed almost eager to introduce them as they approached that table.
The she-devil could see little beyond his bulging muscles and his enormous size. Hm. She was certain if he stood he would even make Darcy look small. Strong physically but powerful? Risque seemed almost curious, as her pale eyes seemed to assess him, ignoring the woman at his side simply because she never stood out to her for a second, so much as a Junebug lost to the grass. Darcy interjected Clay's final word... a name. It had come from her mate. It was that in which ensnared her all at once. Her cool gaze fell upon the woman with a grin that should have been clawed from her lips. It was obvious they were once lovers, anyone with eyes could plainly see it. She knew that look. Even under the grasp of that potent moonshine, she was not blind enough to not see it.
She was cute as a whole, she supposed. Risque already knew she was not worth comparing herself too, a league far beyond what she was. How Risque knew it. How she all but flaunted her personal tie with Darcy as if Risque hadn't even existed. She would have loved to watch her crumble before her, to bring her horrors to life, over and over again. To break that smug look from her face for good. For they all broke. Even This Kacey would too. In an instant, Risque was wearing a mask... one that is entirely not Risque at all and how these fools would never be prepared for the feline queen.
The she-devil allowed a smile void of that usual wickedness, that look all-knowing and feminine."Oh, Stacy..." Her french accent further destroying even her faux name, like she did with anyone she deemed unworthy. She seemed like a Stacy, to Risque she would be. Stacy No name. She demeaned her so subtly that it seemed like an honest mistake, a simple language barrier. "Oh non, Darcy has never mentioned you.." As if to rub in her insignificance, she interjected as Roscoe offered his hand to Darcy. That slight of Roscoe, not unnoticed by Risque whose attention shifted back toward the muscular leader. He looked so solid.
She looked to his features then as he spoke speaking of Darcy's legend as if he wished to stroke her cowboys ego. He wanted something. Yet one could not deny that her mate was quite the celebrity here. She could see the way they all looked at him. Clay had already informed him of her name and that southern hospitality was soon met. Finally, some blood. "Quite the legend indeed. I've heard all about his conquests." The dark-haired vampire woman seemed different. That alcohol perhaps.. Or maybe it was all an act even though the words were not a lie. Even under the sway of alcohol, she was deadly.
She glanced toward Darcy, the spotlight upon him. For once she was in a place where no one knew her. She sat down somewhat neatly upon the wooden seat that stood in front of her. The promise for blood certainly piqued her attention. She all but ignored that Kasey and her blatant staring. "Merci Roscoe." She seemed for a moment... charming and cordial in every way.
Kasey was quick to obey, it was clear who was master here. Risque refused to treat her no more than the help.
She could hardly deny the way her mouth watered, even if it was served in a glass rather than a vein. Regardless, she drew that glass towards her lips, how she relished in the taste. She sighed her relief in spite of its crude taste. It never tasted as the actual source. She nearly downed it. That felt immediately better. She felt her body shudder as her strength felt nearly back to what it should be. Roscoe began to speak once more. That inquiry was indicative of his.... Probing of how Darcy knew his mate. How blind he was.. Or was he merely feigning it? She placed the glass down leaning forward before reaching her hand easily across the table so he could kiss it. Such formalities... of a time gone by and yet she knew a man like Roscoe would eat it up. Of course, she was a vision. She knew how she looked even in these rags. She knew the way she moved would only draw attention to herself. Even drunk, she still moved with an unparalleled sensuality. "You flatter me, Roscoe." she purred.. her eyes boldly met his own. She would not feign total weakness.. Even she could not hide the power that hummed within her.
Her hand closest to Darcy slipped beneath the table to trail up his leg, manicured nails trailed upward as those fingers wrapped around his closest thigh, her fingers reaching precariously close to his groin. A laugh that did not quite meet her eyes escaped her, it was rich and musical... drenched in a sensual feminity. She bit her lower lip as if in contemplation, allowing but a slight flash of fang. "Now..I am a.. Very vigilant woman." She drew out her words, her other hand suggestively toying with that empty bloodied glass. "But I would say it's safe to say.. Your mate... and mine were once... lovers. But go on Darcy... do enlighten us of this story, I am sure we all wish to hear it." She emphasized the word lovers with a tap to the lip of the glass of her nail with a ting. She was the perfect image of nonchalance even as she sighed, a sound so entirely blase. Knowing all too well that it would most likely spark a level of territorialism within the dominant man across from her. That Darcy would soon have to face his very blunder. How dare he make her jealous. From a time that she was not in the picture. She hardly was thinking clearly with that alcohol in her veins, poking holes in boats as if to see them sink. Nor did she truly observe the pettiness of her words or how little she cared in that moment. How innocent those words seemed and yet... how devilish they were all at once.
How the past had a funny way of creeping up on you and tonight, was certainly not void of its share of ghosts.
you better run
the full moon's rising.