It was, perhaps, one of his less well-considered plans and yet Darcy was nothing if not an opportunist as any good predator was prone to be. That chance to be rid of Cobain had presented itself well enough. Risque would no doubt believe what he told her, or in the very least, choose to believe it. That very bond of Maker and Progeny, he suspected, was all that prevented Risque from having done away with the boy already. Cobain a veritable blemish upon his Mistresses good name and yet- the Maker often felt the death of their progeny- or so they said. Darcy so hardly knew. The vampire never having bothered to create another at his own hand. Those risks were far to great, after all. If his progeny turned out to be in any fashion disappointing Risque would not doubt have them destroyed. Darcy refusing to allow another, even one created by him, to afflict his relationship with his lover. Besides, there was every chance Risque would find herself ...jealous of anyone he created. That vampiric cowboy inclined to admit that even the vaguest show of affection from Risque toward that being he created would irritate him sufficiently in turn. No. Progeny of his own complicated the matter far too much. Assisting Risque in ridding herself of her own disappointing creation however was well within his range. A good ol fashioned set up. It had been a long time since he'd amused himself this damn much. Who better to tear Cobain apart then a gang of Hunters?

Darcy waited within the confines of those shadows as Cobain crept closer and closer to that abandoned house,the vaguest sound of movement from the inside indicating those Hunter fools were watching in turn, biding their time perhaps, their own fingers itchy upon the trigger of their attack. Darcy entirely content to set a metaphorical fire to the gunpowder of the moment. That pistol was raised in a single, smooth action, Darcy waiting until Cobain was at that very house itself before discharging a single well-placed bullet through that upstairs window. The sound ricocheted within that empty house as the shattered glass fell like spiked rain down and around the verandah below. If that hadn't given Cobain away he damn well didn't know what would. Those Hunters, as anticipated, came bursting through that door a moment later with Cobain well in their sights. Darcy, in that moment, content to press further back and into the shadows out of sight. The vampiric cowboy having decided to watch Cobain's death from the darkness. The faintest of simpers finding his lips within the gloom. Cobain would hardly be the first vampire within Risque's coven he had led to his death. He'd near lost count, over the years, of just how many he'd slaughtered when he deemed they were no longer useful to Syn's cause. Darcy well pracited in that...genocide of his own specieswhen he chose. How he loathed to have...rivals.

Cobain, somehow, managed to grasp the first of those Hunters. Darcy mismatched gaze narrowed in displeasure as the younger vampires fangs pierced flesh and yet the boy hardly seemed to feed, rather, Cobain sought to compel that Hunter through that affinity- sending the man to turn upon his own comrades. An effective enough plan. Those other Hunters caught off guard by that change in their comrade, allowing that infected fool to take down two of them before they realised that true fight was no longer the vampire they were after but rather- one of their own. Cobain had shifted back into the shadows in turn, the boy apparently content to let his creation fight for him, those brawling Hunters pressing closer and closer to Darcy himself. Darcy's own lip lifted, that soft growl of disdain rising within the depths of his throat, irritation beginning to tug at him. He never had been a patient man. Let alone good tempered. Those Hunter fools likely to force his hand the closer and closer they came. Those three remaining sane Hunters were reluctant to kill the fourth, the hesitation in their movements clear enough. The soft click of that gun barrel was the only sound Darcy truly afforded by way of warning before that explosive sound of gun fire echoed once more. That bullet having found a near perfect connection with the brain of the man it was aimed at. One of those three sane hunters crumpling near instantly to the ground. The sheer shock of that exploding head seemed to prompt panic in at least one of his remaining comrades, the Hunter pivoting on his heel to take off across that clearing and disappear back down and onto the road. Darcy, for now, hardly bothering with that chase. The man would hardly be back any time soon. Cobains creation had managed to grab his comrade now, the snap of the sane Hunters neck echoing into that bloodied darkness. Hmm. Four dead Hunters, one run off and one insane one left.

That rush of vampiric speed saw Darcy appear behind that final, remaining Hunter near instantly. His own lips parted, those wicked, double fangs flashing in the faint glow of the moon before burying themselves with a wicked, violent intent into the neck of the crazed man. Darcy, here and now, so hardly aiming to feed as much as he aimed to kill- those fangs slicing through those needed veins, that muscle and sinew snapping and tearing in turn as Darcy all but tore out the side of that man's neck. A single, unappealing chunk of flesh was spat easily to the ground, Darcy wiping the blood half-heartedly from his lips before using his foot to push the body of that dead man agianst his companions. His pistol was returned easily to its holster, Darcy crossing that small clearing then to grab the bodies of those other two hunters, killed by one of their own, before dragging them across the ground to lay beside their companions. Five dead hunters. All in a row. How appealing. Cobain, for now, was ignored. Darcy eyeing those bodies before reaching for the man with a broken neck. He'd hardly been dead long, his body still warm, his veins still full. A broken neck, after all, didn't bleed. Didn't waste. Darcy crouched down easily then to lift the dead man's neck to his lips. His teeth punctured that flesh as smoothly as a knife through butter, that blood rushing to the surface to fill his mouth and bath his teeth and tongue. Darcy content to feed hungrily then. Blood from the vein, after all, was always better. He was aware of Cobain shifting from within the darkness, the boy no doubt seeking to feed as well on one of those remaining bodies and yet- that near feral hiss spat from Darcy's own throat the moment that child came even remotely close to that pile of bodies Darcy had lined up and was all but guarding. That sound a single and clear warning.

"Fuck off, ya didn't kill none of dem, yar dun get none."

Oh how he knew Cobain was hungry. He knew the boy desired some. Watching another vampire feed was fucking torterous at the best of times and yet Darcy so no need to reward that effort. Cobain had somehow survived that assult and yet that was just all the more fucking irritating. Besides, what he said was true enough. Cobain hadn't killed any of those Hunters. He'd let his little puppet do it for him. Darcy content to deny him that meal. Unless he had the foolish notion of challenging him over it. Cobain not nearly strong enough to fight him one on one. They both knew that. Darcy's mismatched gaze remained upon the other vampire as his teeth and lips returned to that neck, Darcy continuing to feed for several more long moments before that hunger was finally sated and his lips pulled back, his tongue sliding over them to catch any of those stray drops. That body was dropped back into place with the others. Darcy hardly moving away from them, the vampire clearly content to continue to guard them from Cobain simply because he could, his gaze narrowing suddenly upon the other man.

"Why dun ya just leave? It ain't like ya ain't had the opportunity. Risque sends ya off all da time, dun reckon dat maker bond can reach ya if yar too far or in another country either. Ya keep comin' back like a bloody stray dog. Why dun ya just piss off far good? Why come back at all?"

We are rough men and used to rough ways.