There was something so satisfying in those weak little struggles, in holding that delectable meal agianst him, in feeling that fear and outrage and panic within the man in his grip. It sung to that predatory part of himself. It roused those vile, violent thoughts into a veritable frenzy that only further coaxed at those pangs of hunger that stung at his gut and burned at his throat. This one was far nicer then his first meal. He could smell it already. This one would be tasty. Even for a dirty little cat thief. How readily Darcy could near feel that sudder that tore through Alistair's figure as his tongue swept along the man's neck, tasting at his skin, teasing with those rivulets of blood that ran hotly beneath. So ready and ripe for his taking. Yet, he exercises that control even if only for a few moments longer. As if teasing himself with that meal in a fashion almost akin to just how his Mistress might have done had she been present. Darcy, without his lover, so seeming capable of a practised control e often was not in her presence. Yet it mattered little here and now. The fate of the man in his arms long since sealed. A fate even Princess seemed to enjoy the notion of as she purred her satisfaction and Alistair's weak struggles only further exposed all the more of that pristine neck for Darcy's fangs to ravish.

His grip became all the more firm once more, near forcing the other man to be still as his lips so swept over that pristine skin in a fashion near intimate and almost sensual. Darcy effortlessly locating that major artery that pulsed so temptingly just below the surface. The very one that would afford him the quickest, most satisfying meal and yet he was not quite done with his dinner, not just yet. Not when he could make him scream. Make him pay for daring to touch his beloved kitten. For forcing Princess to purr as if she had felt even a shred of emotion for this....boy. How vile that jealousy within him was. That singular emotion perhaps his most prominent. His own veritable weakness and one he had long ago lost all control off. One Risque was all to content to whip into a veritable frenzy at her will and pleasure. He could not stand to have another man so much look at those things he believed to be his own. His Lover and his kitten merely two upon that list. Alistair so unfortunately ensnared within the depths of that depravity by sheer poor misfortune. A misfortune he was set to pay for. Darcy's fangs plunged suddenly and violently downward. Alistair's neck spared that first blow. Those wicked double fangs so instead puncturing into the depths of the man's shoulder to slice through thin skin and into tendon and sinew. Darcy content to all but tear that arm into uselessness. How quickly he was rewarded with not only that scream and the way his victim's body seemed to buck agianst him but too- that blood. As hot and rich and delectable as he had known it would be. Human blood was by far the sweetest. At least outside of that ever-rare Fae. That scarlett liquid all but burned his tongue with its glorious heat. The taste of that blood so sparking the flames off his hunger entirely now.

Darcy was quick to release his grip upon his victims torn and tattered shoulder. His teeth near immediately plunging now into that ever-waiting neck he could ignore no longer. Those violent ivory knives lacerating that major vein near instantly and as they were designed to do. That blood all but fountaining out from the wound as Darcy drank in large, greedy gulps. Alistar had become all but dead weight agianst him. The man still alive and yet only barely. The vampire could hear that weakening, stuttering heart as it fluttered and panicked and desperately attempted to cling to life. Its efforts only further pumping that blood. Alistair's final scream had become little more than a whimper, Darcy effortlessly holding his weight now as he continued to feed. The Cat Thief little more than a ragdoll in his arms. He was aware, dimly, of a shift within the mouth of that alleyway. The presence of someone else registering within the back of his mind and yet here and now he was caught within the snares of that feeding frenzy, that blood, that meal and nothing more. At least until another voice permeated that darkness of that alleyway and so managed to pierce that haze off his own mind.

His mismatched eyes sliced suddenly upward. Darcy's lips and fangs leaving his victims throat long enough to jerk his head toward the man standing in the mouth of the alleyway. A near feral snarl spat from his own bloodied lips in a singular and clear warning. This was his meal. Those possessive instincts the first to respond as they so often were within the Undead Cowboy. Darcy a dangerously territorial creature and one hardly willing to give up that prized meal so soon. Even if there was precious little left of Alistair to begin with. Those words so at last managing to permeate that thickened haze of bloodlust.

"Da West still ain't got nuttin for yar tonight, boy. Fuck off or yar can be next."

Those bloodied fangs were bared toward that other man, the one encased in....shadow. Darcy readily seeming to note that Hunter aura now for the first time. Hmmm. It had been awhile since he had had the pleasure of a Hunter. A lone one at that. And here Darcy was, freshly fed and spilling for that fight. What an interesting battle this might prove to be. The sudden unleashing of those shadowy arrows however was unanticipated. Those vampiric reflexes readily saw his mismatched gaze snap upward just in time to see them fly. A growl rose within Darcy's throat before he was forced to toss Alistair aside and dodge that blow himself. Where or how the nearly-dead man landed he hardly cared. Those shadowy arrows suddenly shifting mid-air to follow him. Darcy not fast enough to dodge that first arrow as is sliced downwards, cutting into his arm, his own blood blooming to the surface now as that hiss of pain rushed through his own teeth. The vampire shifted again and again, Darcy making every effort to dodge those final arrows now in a near elaborate dance until they collided with the walls of the alleyway and disappeared. The Cowboy pivoted near in place then as he landed that final time. The click of those guns echoing in that empty space, both barrels pointed toward the Hunter now. That dying man lying between them. Princess, ruffled by her Master's dodging, leapt from the vampires shoulder to stand over Alistair's fallen figure, the Lynx's lips parted in her own feral hiss aimed at the Hunter. That shadow sword seeming to materialize out of the darkness and into the other man's hands then. Darcy, for his part, merely taking aim with those pistols. The vampire holding little qualm in bringing guns to a knife fight.

'Dat blade all yar got? Dat it? Smoke and fucking mirrors? Reckon I can blow yar brain outta da back o'yar 'ead 'fore yar can get to me with dat."

His head nodded toward that sword and yet- those shadowy arrows were another matter. Could the Hunter summon both at once? Then again, a bullet flew faster then an arrow. Darcy, it seemed, entirely willing to take his chances. Those odds enough in his favour he was willing to make that gamble. At least until that breeze changed. The scent of that Hunter carried more potently toward him. That scent holding something almost....familiar in it.

"Arley."

That singular word fell almost smoothly from his lips in that deep southern twang. A snort of sorts erupting from within him before both those guns were suddenly lowered, Darcy twirling them loosely in his hands before holstering both in the same moment. Risque would be intrigued to hear about this. Far more intrigued then she would be to hear about a street brawl. How....curious. Kitty Harley had a relative. Relatives were the only ones whose blood smelled the same. That singular, sharp whistle readily saw Princess abandon her post in turn, the Lynx leaping back and onto his shoulder as Darcy simply strode past the dying Alistair and toward the Hunter now with the clear intent of continuing out of that alleyway. The vampire decidedly bold to just walk right past a Hunter and yet- if he was anything like his relative Darcy had already worked him out.

"Chase me if yar want, Boy- but dat damn fucking fool in dare will die if yar bother wit me."

He already knew just which choice that Hunter would likely make. Morals. The weakness of so many. Those doubled fangs flashed in the darkness. Darcy watching that Hunter all the same as he strode out of that alleway and back into the darkness from which he had come. That human man was dead anyway. The hunter was wasting his time.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.