Darcy's mismatched gaze continued to linger on the dark forest before him as he came to his lovers side. He could feel that power rising from her to coat the earth and trees and surrounds within its wicked embrace. That feeling was...addictive. Darcy as drawn to that sensation of her power as he had been on the night they had met those centuries ago. The vampiric cowboy akin to a moth to a flame when it came to his desire for that very strength that seemed to all but pour from his Mistress now. Yet- the expanse of her power was all he could feel. Even despite her best efforts his mind simply remained a shield to her illusions. Just as his vampiric body remained oblivious to the venom of her bite. He simply could not see what she had created amongst the trees that seemed to cause that stench of fear within Tetradore to mount over and over until that scent permeated the trees and earth as thickly as the mud itself. His very query on just what the Panther saw seemed to prompt that explanation within his lover, Darcy unable to prevent that faint simper that found his lips at the memory of that night. At least- initially. He had relished in that chaotic destruction as much as any vampire ever had. That bloodied battle had been nothing short of satisfying. Risque so having allowed him veritable free rein that night to do as he did best and maul his way through one body after another. His doubled fangs designed to ravage everything in their wake when that aggression was high enough to prompt him to do so. His single and only mistake that night had been letting Tetradore live.
That brief moment of pleasure he took within that memory was quickly overshadowed by the memory of the boy he'd held in his hand. Tetradore having been mere seconds from meeting his fate at his jaws before Risque had stopped him. Darcy had obeyed her as always, even with that blood so hot and high within his veins. He had brought the child to her. After all, if she desired to keep a child what did it matter to him? How very wrong he had been. How he had not seen until it was far too late the veritable wedge that Tetradore was between Risque and himself. An opponent for her affection and attention the moment he was old enough to be. How very loath he was to admit he had almost liked the boy when he had been younger. Tetradore was good with those cars, he had an interest, he was small and useful and obedient enough. Darcy near assured he could have trained him right. He would have made a useful assistant. Someone worth talking to amongst the rabble of useless vampires they seemed to collect in their service and yet.....Tetradore had to go and grow up. He had to....appeal to Risque, somehow. Darcy hardly oblivious to the way the boy, now a man,had come to look. Risque so clearly not oblivious either. Tetradore having become the single thing Risque and himself had truly ever fought about. An argument that remained ongoing even if Darcy so attempted to...conceal his outright displeasure. His lover, after all, so seemed to take a potent and violent joy in watching that jealous gnaw at him until it became too much. Pressing and pressing upon him as if daring him to lose control over it- if only so she could punish him. A wicked trap he had fallen into before and was loath to do so again and yet how he hated that panther.
Risque stepped away from him then to wander toward the terrified cat and pluck Tetradore from the earth as if he weighed nothing. She held him to her, drawing him agianst her even as he struggled. That twisted affection hardly lost upon Darcy as the vampiric cowboys teeth so began to grate over one another. That sound hardly silent and yet he was near unaware of that habitual gesture as his gaze bored a veritable hole into the pair from where he stood. He would kill Tetradore- one day. He would end him. And finally.....finally no further competition would remain for his lovers affections. Darcy, until then, so refusing to give upon on that obsessive need to eliminate anyone and anything that presented itself as a risk to that very need he possessed for his lovers' attention. Risque's fangs parted then, biting into the flesh at Tetradore's neck, Darcy inclined to allow his features to wrinkle slightly. Were was hardly his own favoured blood, the feeling of that fur agianst his lips equally as displeasing and yet blood was blood all the same. The scent of it was nothing short of potent. To watch another vampire feed and be denied that meal himself was...irritating and yet he remained where he stood. Ever obedient despite his intense displeasure. Tetradore struggled. Those sharpened panther claws slicing through Risque's outfit and scratching at her skin. Risque's rumble out outrage was met with a near furious hiss from himself in turn. That wicked sound spat violent toward Tetradore. Darcy taking a single step forward in clear determination to retaliate on his lovers behalf before he managed to check himself. Risque, it seemed, content enough to feed for now. Darcy reaniend obediently where he was. Until he was summoned.
How dare that little imbecile ruin her dress! More so- how dare he scratch her skin, even if that meal would see it healed in a manner of moments. Tetradore was tossed aside like a broken doll mere moments later, Darcy summoned to mind him. Finally. An excuse to touch her precious pet. Darcy's own hand reached out, snatching Tetradore's scroff only to slam him back down and onto the ground where he belonged as Risque took to examining her gift. That Cartier by far her most favoured brand. The Panthera collection, he knew, one she adored most of all and it was from that very collection he had taken that gift. Something exclusive, expensive and glorious as his lover herself. That gift, it seemed, having been thoroughly well received. Darcy's satisfaction however lasted only a few moments. The vampire becoming aware of the blood that coated his fingers from the bite Risque had left upon Tetradore's neck. How ...tempting that blood was. His hand lifted but briefly upward, his tongue darting out to like that blood from his fingers. That salty, metallic taste nothing but appealing in that moment and how ...very close he was to that open wound. A taste, surely he could have a taste, couldn't he? Yet ...Risque so rarely shared Tetradore's blood. The panther largely off limit unless her mood was exceptional. The vampire cowboy left dancing upon that line tonight. This was far more of a gamble then he usually made and yet- he was hungry. He always was. His irritation at the panther hardly helping his resolve and Risque was distracted with that gift, wasn't she? That veritable threat was all but uttered beneath his breath as his lips lowered to that wound, Darcy hardly fool enough to bite, but rather, to merely taste at that wound as his tongue swept across it again and again. Tetradore's efforts to move only prompted his grip on the cat to tighten and jerk him back into place. Darcy content to clean up that wound for several precarious seconds- until a low, deep growl within the panthers throat prompted Risque to whirl. Darcy, in near the same moment, leaning rapidly away as if he's never touched the panther at all.
"You rat bastard."
Those words were not more than a whispered breath for Tetradore alone to hear as Risques attention shifted from her bracelet to Darcy himself. That suspicion- and accusation- clear within her very gaze. How long he had known Risque for, how often he had seen that very look. How readily he knew she had seen and yet those words that fell from her were near toying as she questioned him. A question he was not fool enough to answer as he merely met her gaze evenly now. She shifted towards him then, Darcy moving to rise from his crouched position, Tetradore left at his feet as he stood. That very action so seemingly a gentlemanly gesture of politeness- to stand in the presence of a lady and yet ...how very twofold it was. That action so placing him upright and upon his own feet in readiness for any attack that might come and yet- pleasure in that gift it seemed had, for now, won out over her irritation at his indiscretion. Risque veritable purring her pleasure at that bracelet before commanding Tetradore to rise in turn until they both stood before her.
Her sudden command to have that bracelet put on was met with the thrust of her arm toward him. Darcy moved to do as asked, his fingers neatly plucking that bracelet from her hand only to fix it smoothly and efficiently to her wrist. Those gemstones all but glittered in the moonlight. That piece nothing short of exceptional. His own lips parted, Darcy so about to speak when her hand snapped out to ensnare his own wrist in a near vice-like grip as she tugged him but slightly towards her. As if she intended to kiss him and yet ...her grip was firm upon his arm. Darcy near instantly suspicious and yet he hardly dared lean away as she lingered before him, tasting the air, her lips very near brushing agianst his own and yet- it was a hiss he was met with instead. Risque, it seemed, hardly having forgotten that indiscretion as she accused him of that very crime he was guilty off. Her torn, shredded dress the only thing that so distracted her then. Her irritation halved, it seemed, between tetradore and himself as she threatened to flay them both. A threat Darcy knew she was more than content to carry through on. Fuck. It had been...months ...maybe even years since he had earned her displeasure enough to end up upon that wall. The vampire fearing that very punishment. His cunning mind content o whirl quickly then in an effort to save himself.
Excuses or apologies would only irritate her. They were akin to weakness after all. Yet- to dare her to carry out those very punishments with bravado would be seen as a direct challenge to her own authority. That a fight Darcy was unwilling to have here and now. No. He needed a balance. Something in between. A tradeoff. To give her something to appease her while sparing himself most, if not all of her wrath. To deny that crime would be near suicidal in turn. Darcy content to do what was perhaps ...unexpected as his eyes so obediently cut away from her own in veritable submission. A silent act of appeasement all the same and yet it was his words that were far more designed to catch her off guard if only for his blatant admittance of that crime.
"I'm sorry for touching what's yars, Darlin'. I know he's yars, I ain't meanin' nothin' by it. Dat wound ya made dough, it was a hella good one. He was bleedin all over da floor, all dat blood jus bein' wasted. I closed da wound for ya, dats all."
It was, after all, hardly a lie. Darcy's saliva so doing what most vampires saliva was inclined to do, when they willed it, and encourage that wound to heal, cease to bleed and close over. That final lick Darcy had afforded that wound having been designed to heal that damage Risque's bite had done. After all- his Mistress would hardly desire that blood to merely be spilled and wasted upon the earth, would she? Darcy so attempting to twist his veritable crime into an effort to please her. To assure her it was her he had thought of all along. Rather than his own hunger. His gaze shifted to her wrist then, his mismatched eyes falling upon that bracelet that all but shone in the moonlight. The vampire making no move to pull from her grasp all the same if only to assure she still felt entirely in control even as he sought to ...twist her thoughts for his own gain.
"It looks gorgeous, Darlin'. It suits ya too. It's mighty fine. It's a shame bout dat dress 'dough, he's gone and torn it all up and made ya walk into da mud, ruined ya shoes he did. Damn cat nearly got dat bracelet muddied too."
All that was left was to turn her attention back to that bracelet, to please her with the sight of it and so connect that pleasure with Darcy himself- before shifting her aggression and anger and irritation......entirely on to Tetradore. Tetradore who had ruined her outfit, who had slashed her (an outright attack really as far as Darcy is concerned, he should be punished for that), and ruined her shoes with the mud he had run into when he could have avoided it. Yes, this was all Tetradore's fault. He only needed one final little push. Darcy's foot shifted, that movement almost imperceptible and hidden within the leaf litter of the forest floor. The vampire allowed his boot to hover just above Tetradore's right paw before pressing suddenly down on it. That force increasing more and more and more with every intention of near breaking that paw beneath his vampiric strength. His very goal to prompt Tetradore to hiss, growl, roar, cry out- anything that might be perceived as aggressive towards Risque and himself- something to irritate the vampire woman enough to rally her anger on the cat alone. That defiant, hateful pet that he was. Hissing at his mistress.
Such a bad, bad, bad kitty.
We are rough men and used to rough ways.