How Risque had wanted nothing more than to capture her enemies, to burn them alive within that building they so rallied those impressive forces that dared to even think of striking Syn down. To bring her down. That thought crashes within her like an iron anvil tumbling violently within her. Yet even still, she remains ever so poised in those terse moments, maintaining that pristine composure even though inwardly there is an acidic storm brewing, ink-black violent and razing. It crackles and snaps like static which in turn causes that malicious mind to start churning, methodically at first into the chambers of a hellish chaos. The roiling doubt permeates through her. That wicked disease of paranoia within her taking hold as she observes that contract, glaring up at her with certain mockery. It was the final reason that pushes her off that ledge and into a free fall into madness. Apparently, the sadistic she-devil could handle those thoughts of war, but to poach what was hers, Darcy no less. It creates a breeding ground so potent that it grips her so completely, squeezing so she has no room but to explode. That pressure only intensifying, into hellfire rage.

It wasn't long until that careful control begins to crumble, obliterated as she crushes that contract within her slender hand like she would anyone that dared to oppose her. Those talons digging into the paper was not enough to satisfy her temper. She tosses it aside like something abhorrent and insulting, because to her it was. Now all that was swimming in her mind was semblance of concern that the only vampire who obeyed her by choice, who chose to bound himself to her, who apparently loved her was compromised. Oh no, she couldn't have that. How her dangerous mind keeps swimming with the tide of thoughts, getting swept further into sweet pandemonium.

How he watches her, tries to appease her. Yet it was not enough, nothing was enough when she was this consumed. No amount of logic could sate her. Only proof. Trust was simply not her forte, not when there was so many circling like vultures. Then there was Darcy, ever that careful creature trying to escape the undiluted ire that threatens to pummel him to a pulp. In truth, it was a storm he could not avoid. It was only the two of them up here, minus Princess whom sprawled out without a single care in the world, that rumbling purr does little to placate her in these moments. Not even that warmth she offers her cool, hungry flesh, because she is hardly aware of it even though she devours that luxurious heat all the same. Oh, this was night was souring by the second. She weaves that complicated web of questions, sticky and attempting to ensnare her devilish cowboy, to catch him in a lie, to give her just one reason to make him suffer. That gaze snaps to him then like a whip and her vampire with that steely resolve didn't even flinch. How he knew her so well enough to not baulk then, it would have made him appear guilty. That scent of weakness would be sure to send her into a frenzy. He began to speak but the roaring in her head was far too loud, potent and lurid like the toxicity that rabidly snaps at those thoughts. Rationality apparently a lake gone dry along with any emotion that Darcy needed appeal to, to get through that dragon fury. His words were feeble things, she heard them, barely and yet they meant nothing in the sway of that possessive rage.

He wanted to bring their enemies here! How that thought only seemed to infuriate her further. She wanted to strike out, to destroy those that would dare defy the. She wanted to send a message that would ripple throughout time as the worst vampire massacre in history. She wanted to show them what it was like to truly know suffering, to make them pay for their impertinence. She could keep Cade in a silver cage, wrapped in silver chains for all of eternity. What she had planned for Darcy was worse should he prove to be nothing but a filthy liar like all the rest. Yet another man to betray her. What a dangerous thought to have.

Not even that submissive lowering of his head could appease that unrestrained mistress now. The one with hell flowing through her sick veins. How that tension builds between them, even still, Darcy nothing but swept up within her unforgiving vortex, like he so often was. How she combs her fingers through Princess' fur, that softness a striking contrast to anything that she was in that moment in a helpless bid to remain composed. What a losing battle that was. She could not be bridled, not ever.

Risque could not be bridled or handled. She rises from that resting spot with that inhuman grace drawing toward her Darcy, she could practically feel his bracing, those eyes never leaving her. She wonders if she could make his nerves go off like pretty little fireworks in him. Yet in some sick way she relishes in that simple way he looks at her, that attention from him even despite her own festering darkness. It sung a nefarious tune that rattles throughout her body. How easy it was to give herself to that violence just as it was to give into her ardor.

As she ends up behind him, her fingers poised like talons digging just above his heart that she nearly threatens to pluck from him. How he tries to restrain that sound of pain from her abrupt assault, that sound something delicious, something she savours and yet it only feeds those dark temptations. She could practically feel the sound resonating throughout her body that nearly drapes upon him. That sound she relishes within, feeds upon. How she adores his pain and his ability to withstand it, to still crave for more even after that violence was executed.

How silent he was, submissively willing to take that abuse despite how it riots against his very dominant nature, that nature she enjoys to toy with, to test. Once she starts, she simply cannot stop, those accusations falling wickedly from her sinful lips as though other forces were content to drive her, nothing more than a puppet to her own disease. He dared to growl that displeasure and her hold only tightens around him, meeting him with her own sound of discontent. How he forgot himself in that moment, that kind of defiance she expected from Tetradore, not him.

She yanks upon that chain with a quick ruthless precision in sudden retaliation, leaning him back into her so that him and the balance of that chair relies only upon her. "Naughty." She seems to purr. How dare he growl at her. How easy it would have been to simply allow that chair to fall backward, to have him crashing to the floor, to pin him below her. To sink those heels into his skin. How she is a guillotine blade forever at his throat.

What a twisted embrace this was, she could feel his utter hatred for it, this forced vulnerability and it almost drives her forward as if she yearns for his lack of control. As if daring it to the surface to meet her own. Risque tilts him further back into a more precarious hold as if her body could melt into his in that single act, that choking grip unrelenting as she dares to peer down upon him. She leans over enough to ensnare his gaze, her final question issued like a death sentence, no more than an iniquitous whisper uttered with potent promise. She hardly knows what dwelled within his mind then as his features seemed to soften and that perplexing subtle smile tugs upon his lips. Whatever was that fool grinning about? How she hardly knew the cause of it, but it disappeared just as fast as she loosens her hold just enough to allow him to speak.

How in her own sick way she likes to see him this way, at her mercy.

Darcy's words seemed rational, issued in distinct succession to appeal to that rational being that often dwelled. Her eyes narrow to slits, her mind churning and tasting those very words, as though she could taste it like a beating pulse pinched between her teeth. He mentions Harley and a low threatening rumble resonates through her chest. The last thing in the world she wanted was to hear Harley's irritating voice muttering such vital information to her.

In this moment she wishes he had a pulse. One that so deceived him, just so she could hear its pounding cry. The hellion wanted nothing more in this moment to cradle that heart within her hands, to have him watch as she held it before his very eyes, still attached. Such a fragile thing it would be, even a vampire heart was equally so. She knows that in an instant she could do it but that subtle distraction of inhaling seems to fuel his words. Her nails seem to dig and brush against his chest idly as he did so. Such a terribly human sound, that breath of air. How delicious it was, to be able to feel his chest rise and slowly deflate beneath her clawed finger tips.

He tries to appeal to her, his voice suddenly an oddly soothing thing as he explains his actions. How precarious of a tightrope he wavers on, such an unsteady razor wire. The fact that she didn't make him writhe in those very moments was the only testament that she had decided to accept what he said, at least somewhat. For now. But it hardly seemed to satiate her irritation, that very sensation once built within her hardly ever dissipate without an outlet. How dare he cause that blatant ire. Truly, she had wished she was there, she would have enjoyed seeing Tybalt's traitorous blood smeared across that floor. He truly got off easy. Oh, the ways she could have made him suffer, made him beg like a blubbering fool. "You should have. You didn't. It makes you seem like you have something hide. Oh.. how I hate suspicious." Especially with the declaration of war ominously before them just an impending dot on the horizon. It explained so much... These signs she could taste in the air before her mind could have pieced them together. She should have known.

Their time is limited, they are marked and soon they will be nothing more than another stain of blood on the ground along with anyone else that defies her. "For four long months, no one has uttered a breath.. Do you not find this suspicious?" for now her attention is focused to the larger threat and yet her hold does not relent upon him. No, he was not cleared of those accusations, she hardly felt done with him. But the thought of traitors in their midst has ensnared her concentration. It would have meant there were liars lurking like vile weeds in their garden. It simply not do.

How Risque hardly anticipated that sudden declaration of love from his lips, it wasn't the first time she had heard him confess this and yet it was equally as baffling every time. It was terribly distracting. No one loved darkness, they always had their lights to combat it, to keep it at bay because of what lingered within it. As though they were afraid to be consumed by the very beast inside of it and they were right to. They should fear it. For all the vileness that infected her necrotic heart. For all years she had let that hatred fester and grow, cultivating it with adept fingers, feeding it with the fodder life had always seemed to readily offer in plenty. People were so painfully predictable, especially the ones that claim love. Yet when she looks at him, truly, she sees that adoration and it was perhaps the one thing that made her nervous. It could be a useful ploy for control. Yet what had love ever done for her? Love betrayed, love was weakness and yet how she could still see it in is eyes. Even now, see that adoration within his mismatched depths. She had become so content to linger in the festered waters of misery and possession. There was no love in this life and yet...

Darcy possessed it, not by force, but an eager willingness to do so. He offered her everything on a pristine platter even when she demands for more. Still, even after over a century, it only seemed to flourish in this chaos, growing and adapting into something else. How it nearly drives him into the same madness it does her. How she is unable to keep that sudden caught off bewilderment from her face then, those pale eyes searching him as she peers down upon that familiar chiseled face. That man she possessed so completely and how unaware she truly was of it especially now. These emotions were so far from what she had ever truly known that it seemed like an invader trying to corrupt and take root.

She was tensely coiled, as a bush viper ready to launch forward. How she wants to consume him then. Crack him open just to see what was inside as though she could find truth buried somewhere, hidden in his depths. Just because she could, because he was hers. Surely, that's what all this was. A lie to try and placate and regulate that fickle temptress. How her mind could hardly comprehend anything else at that moment. How even now she knows she could obliterate him from this world, tear him away and she twitches as though she might do so... but she cant.

What had he done?

Yet her silken voice still rings perfectly clear as it reaches for him, that moonlight illuminating her porcelain skin. "You seek to use love to manipulate me now? Oh, Darcy is it a death wish you seek? I can feel you struggle, barely but you still struggle so I know that you truly do not want to die." How very obscure those fading words truly were, how desperate she was to hear that answer. To have him at her complete mercy would be the only act that would show his undying loyalty, unless he had a figurative ace up his sleeve.

War it would seem, disagreed poorly with her. For centuries that very woman had survived she had encountered many enemies, faced them directly on. That very paranoia a guide, a warning bell, pitch and alarming within her calculating mind. Every enemy she had faced had crumbled before her, a welcome mat of carnage at her feet. Yet now, as she stared into those familiar mismatched eyes she could not ignore that roaring fury that he had kept something from her. Along with news of that impending war it had all but amplified.

Darcy had not avoided her scalding fury over the years even with all the effort he took to navigate those horrifying, perilous waters that so many had perished in. He had always been different, a level all of his own making. He never shied from the volatile creature she was like every other her creature beneath her control and perhaps it is this reason that he is alive even now. That fierce boldness, that adoration she can't seem to quite understand, and that sharp cunning mind that does not quake even at the sign of his own demise, or did it? Was it fear? The true driving factor for him? It was true, Darcy was a remarkable creature even now, at the hand of her own suspicious driven punishment he was truly that. He uttered those words that were meant to placate her, saying if she didn't trust him she wouldn't look him in the eye. Yet it is hardly enough. "Please." She spat, that very word far from pleasantries.

She allowed her lips to trail across his face, dragging toward his ear, then along to his neck as she spoke, that breath trickling out to meet his skin. Would he dare use those paralyzing eyes on her? "I would have thought you would have enjoyed the challenge. I would imagine after all this time, you would have preferred to hunt me." She tastes those words, the thought nearly exnihilating and yet her pale apathetic eyes peer down into his unique gaze without hesitation as his words began to weave their way through her chaos like a permeating liquid. She suddenly has her teeth around his throat, holding it there for a breath of a moment before she drags those fangs across his neck, leaving two deep angry red marks simply because she wants to see him bleed. How contrived that very action was, how easy it would be to plunge those fangs in deeper to rip into his neck. To mark him as she had over a thousand times. She dragged her fingers across his shirt, it rips beneath her, those talons marking that skin below.

"I will allow you to prove it to me." Just how he would do that, she had no idea but she expects the impossible. She drops her hold of him so abruptly, releasing the once unyielding grip upon his chain, then allowing that chair to roll back into place, those feet meeting the ground with a resonating thud. She does not sit, she merely watches him with those pale apathetic eyes. Princess seemed hardly disturbed in the slightest, completely sprawled out, belly exposed as if she truly adored basking in the moonlight. She truly had come along nicely. She walks, that gliding gait away from him then, observing him like a hunter stalking her prey.

"Then I will hear out your little plan. Unless you are all out of ideas." How that thought almost amuses her for a moment but it doesn't show.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on