Nothing could possibly prepare Alistair for the sensation of those jagged teeth plunging into his shoulder, tear at his flesh and ripping through his muscles. It was a veritable shock to his system, tearing a scream from his lips as he instinctually struggled to pull away from the very source of that pain. He tried to pull forward, to jerk his body away from the vampire but it was an all but fruitless endeavor. Darcy's grip upon him near vicelike, pulling him back, resulting in his back arching feebly. He could feel the heat of his own blood pouring from the wound, staining the very fabric of his shirt a deep crimson. It was nothing short of a strange sensation, the vampire's tongue so toying with his injury, worsening and widening it to further the flow of blood and yet, the very taste of his blood seemed to produce an immediate reaction within the vampire, releasing Alistair for a brief moment. It was, perhaps, naive of him to hope that, perhaps, the Southern vampire might have found his very taste unpleasant. That hope, however, was nothing if not fleeting as, immediately those jagged teeth plunged into the smooth slope of his neck. Alistair screamed as those jagged sharpened teeth tore at his neck, ripping that major vein within his neck, sending blood spilling from his body, all but dousing the neckline of his once pristine button-down shirt, all while Darcy greedily gulped each mouthful of that life-giving substance.

The rapid loss of blood left Alistair all but weak within Darcy's arms, his own arm far too destroyed to be of any use. His vision was all but feathered at the edges, the side effects of that shock quickly settling in as his gaze lazily shifted around that alleyway, a part of the man still desperate to find something that he could utilize to escape - this couldn't be the end for him. Not yet! Not here! His heart all but shuttered as it so desperately tried to pump blood through his system and to those organs needed for his survival - the man's blatant refusal to give into that sway of exhaustion resulting in that weak fight for survival, even if it only succeeded in giving Darcy more of what he sought. He was utterly oblivious of the help upon the way, or the attention his cries had attracted. That second bite of those vicious teeth in his skin caused little more than a whimper upon his lips, the man simply incapable of vocalizing those shouts that had once pierced the night air. His own gaze lazily blinked at the sound of...something, the artist almost unable to piece together that muted sound as he so strove to fight against that darkness that all but metaphorically threatened to engulf him. Life was slipping away from his fingers - despite his every effort to simply hold on. It was the sudden movement of the vampire that clung to his neck that caused his own hazy gaze to focus upon what was little more than a silhouette in the alleyway - that snarl within his ear all but caused him to flinch as he feebly attempted to reach up with his uninjured shoulder as if he had the strength to pull the vampire off of him. The very result of his efforts, however, was little more than a slight twitch of his fingers.

He was unaware, in the darkness of that alleyway, of those shadows that raced towards them - the boy hardly prepared for the manner in which he was so abruptly tossed aside like a rag doll until he all but collided into the alleyway wall. The impact alone took his breath away, prompting a softly murmured groan upon his lips. Everything....hurt, the sounds of that battle within the alleyway seemed entirely distant to him, muffled even as if there was an ocean between him and them. What he was aware of, however, was his messenger bag tossed on the alleyway floor, those graphite pencils rolling underfoot with the vampire's deft speed. His fingers reached out for them, that art still the most important thing in his life, even when he was at the very edge of death. He could hear the hiss of that feline standing over him, just as he could see the tips of her paws in his periphery vision. That...fucking.....cat. "Fuck off." Those words were little more than breaths on his lips, surely going unheard amongst the heated discussion occurring somewhere above him. They were little more then sounds in the backdrop of his death, he could feel his own blood pooling around his head, his hair slick with it. He needed to stop the bleeding...he needed to stop.....he needed.....