Her words were as swift and decisive as the slice of an executioner's axe. He had known she had known. Risque so hardly fooled by his efforts to placate her this very evening. They had been together far too long for such games as that and yet- it could hardly hurt to try and coax her mood towards something more amicable, to give it further to fall before it reached that metaphorical end when her patience ran its last and her rage would so undoubtedly lash out at anything and everything around her- including himself. Darcy long since having learned that art of self-preservation to the best of his ability. This very game he played tonight a decidedly daring one and yet a part of him had near come to relish in that challenge that she alone presented him. A dance that afforded him no missteps and yet how eagerly he presented himself to play each time. Even if, on occasion, he left with no reward at all. Her very admittance that she would try not to bite might almost have been amusing- if Risque was inclined to jest. He takes that seat across from her easily then. Darcy knowing well when her patience for his silence would be pushed no further. The vampire reaching into his jacket to do as he was bid and place that leather bound book upon the table and slide it towards her with an explanation of just what it was.

He is ever-watchful of her in those moments. His very form coiled in readiness to move should she see fit to lash out at him. That stillness to her figure near impossible to read and yet he had long since come to understand that inevitable calm before the storm as her eyes drag from him to that book he had presented her. If she is displeased she hardly shows it outwardly. Risque as practiced at wearing that mask as he himself- if not more so. Yet he had known her far too long now to mistake that silence, that stillness, for anything less than a cover for the tumultuous inner consideration of what was presented to her. Darcy continued then to point out just what those numbers meant and how they were displayed. Risque more than capable of connecting those dots. The vampire Queen a shrewd business woman. His own figure continues to appear relaxed, if not watchful, giving little away of just how rapidly his own mind moved in its efforts to perceive every movement of his Mistress in turn as he balanced so precariously upon that knife's edge of her temper. She would be more than displeased at the news Haunt had been bought out by Blue Moon. That for four long months Cade had been building an army for a battle Syn had not even known it had needed to fight. They had been...outdone. That consideration like a knife to his own gut. That irritation inclined to spark an anger within his veins that was very near hot despite that cold pallor of death that clung to his undead figure. She would be furious. Darcy capable of doing little more then bracing himself for that storm.

That faint twitch off her lip was hardly missed and yet she remained composed still. His mismatched gaze linger upon her as she continued to read. She was....too calm. Her apparent composure so at last beginning to set him on edge and yet he remained within that seat, pressing that contract towards her now. To deny her knowledge of it any longer would only act agianst him. The fashion in which her eyes narrowed perhaps that first display of outward displeasure she had openly given. He could still smell the blood on that piece of paper from here. Vampire blood holding a near...rancid scent and yet she seemed to almost caress that piece of paper in a fashion almost tantalizingly seductive before absentmindedly plucking something from it. That bit of flesh tossed aside. The displeasure within her only further seemed to increase- he was sure- before that book was snapped shut with a forceful finality that saw his own gaze cut sharply toward it. Her voice, at last, reaches out toward him then, his own eyes narrowing slightly at that....accusation he could already sense hidden within those lyrics. That paranoia, it seemed, having curled within her like the vile serpent it was. Yet how he could hardly blame her. Paranoia had kept her alive all these years. Her suspicion of those around her having saved them both in the past and yet some part of him near inwardly snarled at the very idea that she thought he might....betray her. That discontent stirring within him in turn. The man, perhaps wisely, affording those words no answer just yet.

That contract she held upward before him was easily crushed beneath her manicured nails before she tosses it aside. His next words met with an outright snarl and yet he offers them all the same. Her mood, he knew, all but obliterated now and yet whether she cared to hear it or not it did not change that challenge left before them. A challenge he had considered for the past few evenings now. Ever since that raid on Haunt. Darcy nothing if not cunning in his plans. The man holding a distinct talent for battle and yet that very plan he had in mind, he knew, would fly directly in the face of Risques own. How well he knew his Mistress. That anger undoubtedly driving her to seek a near immediate retribution. To attack Blue Moon with their full force and as soon as possible to exact that lethal revenge and yet- Cade was not Tybalt. Cade would anticipate that very action and undoubtedly be ready for it. How desperately he desired that revenge just as she did and yet- an outright attack would lead them to nothing but ruin. His plan so requiring that enemy army.....to come to them. Her displeasure in that idea was clear, Risques eyes narrowing sharply. Darcy hardly flinched away from her gaze in that moment all the same as she presented him those very questions. That southern drawl at last falling from his lips. How carefully he needed to choose those words.

"Darlin, dats exactly what I want 'im ta do. I want 'im ta bring 'is entire force 'ere. Ta get dem all in one place, so den..."

She was not yet ready to listen, it seemed. Darcy quick to cease his words for now, his gaze shifting from her own in that clearly submissive gesture aimed to appease that disquiet he knew was rapidly rising within her. How he could near feel it. A part of him, though sickened and near perverse as it surely was, finding himself readily....attracted to that wildness within her. How very like a siren song it was! That subtle want coiling within him. Pressing agianst those desires of self-preservation. That predator within himself near relishing in that mounting tension and veritable hunger the hung within the air between them. Darcy, for now, forcing those desires down as her voice cut that air again. Presenting him another question. One he is not fool enough to answer. His own mismatched gaze cut downward then, watching her fingers rake through the fur off his own pet. Princess so hardly seeming to mind that attention and yet, he suspected, that cat was no longer under his own control. Risque rose suddenly then. That movement as lithe and graceful as always. Her body moving in a near feline-esque perfection. His gaze hardly leaving her. His muscles tensing all the same as if bracing for impact. How very....dangerous it was to allow her so close to him and yet to move now would be very near akin to an act of disobedience. The very treason she accused him off. Darcy simply allowed her to approach him as was her very intent. The vampire nothing if not loyally obedient to her alone.

She slid behind him then. Darcy keeping his position all the same as she lent forward, her breath so close to his ear prompted a shudder down his spine. Darcy trained to respond to her every touch- even those given without that intimate intent. That hand that trails over his shoulder and across his chest feels almost warm despite that hold of death. The man near hyper aware of her touch. The skin beneath the trace of her fingers rises in response before her fingers suddenly and abruptly clench. Her nails are driven sharply into his chest, just above his heart, those tips pericing flesh. A soft grunt of pain is forced from him then and yet he is quick to swallow the sound. Pain - when that paranoia clawed at her mind, so often tending to....tempt her to continue all the more. That question a double edged sword. Its blade sharp on both ends. Darcy, once more, hardly providing an answer just yet as she continued- questioning his loyalty and the pleasure he might take in her death. Any chance to answer that question denied by the sudden snap of that chain around his neck. That instant hiss very near spat from his lips.

How he so hardly required that air to breath and yet there was nothing pleasant about the sensation of that silver-coloured metal cutting into his flesh and crushing at his throat and trachea as it drew tighter and tighter. Darcy lent readily backward and further into her hold if only to try and lessen that choking sensation. A rumbling growl of displeasure coiling within his throat. That very sound only seeming to prompt her to pull that chain tighter again until that chair tipped backward and he was balanced precariously agianst her. A vulnerability he....disliked. She lent over him then, her gaze meeting his own once more as she offered that final question in those same singully whispered words of sweet perfection. Her hold releases on that chain, just enough to indicate she expected an answer. Darcy forced to take that breath of air. How much he disliked this position, that vulnerability pressing agianst his predatory nature and yet too there is a near sick satisfaction in her paranoia. She feared losing him. She feared him turning away from her. Some part of him almost relishing in that very idea that she wanted him. Needed him. Tybalt had been wrong. She did care. He was something to her and always had been. He had known it. This moment of violent intent so evidently proof of that. How readily that sickening satisfaction so soothed him. The faintest touch of a simper twitching at his lips before he seems to note his precarious position and his disdain for it all at once.

"When I came 'ome dat night da sun was less den a 'alf 'our from risin'. I 'adn't looked through dat book proper like yet, what good is dare in me bringing ya information I aint even sure of meself? What good would it do ya? I told ya what 'appened at dat bar, every word of it true. Yar can drag it outta 'Arley if yar still dun believe me, she can't lie to ya. Den last night I went through dat book, read it all, got all the information anc checked it and brought ya both book an contract."

Those words were nothing but logic, presented to her directly, without sweet words or embellishment. The vampire pausing for barely a breath before continuing then.

"I shouldda given yar dat contract dat night but it meant so little to me I ain't even remember it till later. Tybalt offered it and I killed 'im and da vampire who brought it to me. I dun need money, Darlin'. Tybalt, Cade, Night Train- day ain't got nuthin' ta give me dat I dun already 'ave."

Those words are carefully chosen. Contrition wrapped in assuring praise. An admission he had been wrong not to give her that contract immediately, his reaction to receiving it at all and that muted assurance off his own loyalty and thankfulness for what she had given him. How very true those words were. He had nothing to gain from going over to one of those other bars- and everything to lose by doing so. That was a gamble he was hardly willing to make. Darcy pausing then long enough to allow her to consider the logic behind those words and yet- logic so often failed to appease her all the same. Not when her mood disagreed. His gaze so hardly leaving her own. He understood her disdain. He the only being amongst all her belongings whom she held nothing over. Whom she could not command. Darcy not fool enough to allow her either of those things. For all his utter devotion no part of the man was anything short of...cunning. Even with his own lover. The only thing she could so take away from him was herself. Yet how it...irked him that she did not see! Did not understand! Did she truly think him fickle enough in his affections to ever abandon her?

"Risque, I've been in love with ya for 'undred and fifty seven years. I ain't never loved no one else in all me life. It ain't about ta change."

It was so hardly the first time he'd uttered those very words to her and surely would not be the last- even if she had never once returned them. She showed it in other ways, surely, yes. She loved him didnt she? He knew she did. She didn't need to say it for him to know. She loved him the most of all. The best of all. He was her favourite. He had to be. How vile that doubt that clawed at him on occasion. That doubt Tybalt had dared to feed with his wretched words that night. Somewhere hidden within those monstrous, vile, unfathomable dark depths of Darcy's heart....that insecurity lingered like a disease.

"If yar didn't trust me, Darlin. Yar wouldn't look me in the eye."

How very bold those last words were and yet- how very true. She knew of his power. She knew of his ability to bring instant death with his gaze. A gaze she never ceased to meet with her own. One she met even now. Darcy having been presented with endless opportunities over their time to kill her. Opportunities far easier then a vampiric war he might not survive all the same. Darcy instead, choosing to tug at her very subconscious itself if only to slip between the slithering tentacles of the parasitic paranoia that all but gorged itself on her thoughts. The man aiming to prompt even the faintest touch of doubt in her own belief that he had been compromised.

How dangerous that game they played tonight.


d a r c y
and i'll stay alive, just to follow you home