That sound was almost riotous. An orchestra of cacophony that rose within the night air to cut and slice that dark tranquility like a rusted blade. That intermingling of the those feline caterwauls with the roar of those engines holding a power of sorts all its own. One that seemed to shake the very ground until those tremors of sounds vibrated within his very chest. How readily he could taste that power, feel it bloom within himself and his Lover beside him. He could feel her power so potently in that moment. It was...addictive. A siren song that drew his love and admiration and want all at once. He had never once questioned his choice in all those years to stand beside her, such a choice only further reaffirmed in that singular moment that he had chosen well just whom to serve. She was a goddess among men. An immortal in the truest sense. Perfection made real. His mind and body both so craving her in every sense of the word and yet he is hardly foolish enough to tread upon that precarious peace that exists between them now nor sully that momentary good mood that had returned to her. For all he adored of her, for all his unwavering loyalty that need for self-preservation existed still. Tonight was not the night to attempt to coax at her intimate desires. That whip-like temper rested too close to the surface still. Tomorrow perhaps, he might coax her attentions upon him further and inspire the sort of violently passionate embrace he was assured was a deserving celebration of that war to come. But not tonight. Even despite that sheer want that lingered upon his features and hummed within his very veins like that stolen blood of life itself.

Her command for silence sees his own fingers snap once more, shutting off those cars below to once more return the night to its near eerie stillness. Quieter, it seemed, then it had been before that show of sound from them both. As if the very city held its breath in baited fashion for fear that sound might return again. A bold game to play, to risk drawing the Council toward them and yet, he suspected, they would see no trouble from it tonight in the very least. Soothed by that veritable display of power his lover so slid with that enrapturing grace to stand beside him once more and muse upon those preparations still to be made. Darcy nothing if not careful in his own planning. That vampiric cowboy determined to see to every possible outcome or loophole Cade might so seek to employ agianst them. That Blue moon had already achieved the veritable upper hand was displeasing enough. A metaphorical burn agianst him he was determined to right. Neither of them had guessed at Cade's intentions and yet how readily Darcy so took that blame upon himself. Was this not the sort of thing he would have looked for? How utterly patheticof him to have failed to see it sooner. That Risque, in turn, had failed to predict that very outcome so hardly seemed to sway him from that internal insistence it was assuredly his own failing. His Beloved had enough to consider each evening without wasting her time watching those other bars. He would not allow it to happen again. Oh how he would take pleasure decimating Cade's forces in punishment.

Risque's words so drew his mismatched gaze once more as she offered the credentials off those very vampires she was assured she could 'borrow' with the calling in of a favour. His Mistress insisting they were trustworthy upon that battlefield if nothing else. Powerful and useful both so provided he could exact his own control over them and exert, as she called it, a little dominance. That very word so prompting that hint of a simper to the corner of his ever youthful lips. Establishing himself as the dominant being among any group of vampires was very near his speciality. His dominance a corrosive force agianst anything and anyone whom so sought to rise agianst him, save for Risque herself. That....attitude so tapered in her presence even despite that internal cataclysm it seemed to cause within himself to fight that need to dominant with that utter devotion. He had fought his way to the very top of each and every 'coven' they had ever led. To exact his command over these borrowed vampires would be no different. A part of him near relishing in the idea of a challenge.

"I'll see it dun. Day'll fall in line. Day always do one way or da other. Some break easy, some break hard, but either way, day all break."
It was nothing short of necessary that each and every one of those vampires followed his command to the letter. Mutiny in war would be....disastrous. He knew first hand. After all, he had turned agianst his own Makers coven all those years ago in that bloodied turf war and eliminated several off them well before anyone had even noticed his traitorous act. If it could even be called as such. What loyalty had he ever held to Beau beyond that quivering, fragile Makers Bond that had never truly solidified? Risque's finger shifted in its pattern, sending those cats below on a new path, Darcy so allowing his gaze to linger on them with clear intrigue as his mind further contemplated those words she offered in those sweet, melodious tones. Risque assured she had a plan to bring Cade out onto that battlefield, one she would know the feasibility off the moment her spies returned.

"Let me know what yar decide on when dem spies get back and report to ya. If it please ya."

That politeness so rarely faltered in her presence. Darcy near trained to offer his words as if in near reverence to her, suggestions rather then demands for her to follow. A request to share all her plans with him, if it pleased her to do so and yet those very words so smoothly concealed his own need to assure her plan was logical, sensible and within their favour. He so hardly doubted her mind for war. Risque nothing short of capable in that regard, rather, there remained every chance her plan might place herself within that direct firing line of Cade's ire. A risk Darcy himself was unwilling to take and yet one he could hardly forbid her from. To know her plan, in the least, was to assure some protection for her- even if that protection need be in the guise of something else lest she discover its existence. He would not so openly risk his Lover without some....contingency plan. That conversation shifted then to those guns he so adored and his own assurance that rooftop was near ideal to fire those sniper rifles from. A high ground advantage. Risque's command to buy those weapons as he saw fit upon that company card prompting that eager, undeniable grin to his own features. Those firearms one of so few things he truly enjoyed in this afterlife. To be given free range of those company funds was a rare privilege and delectable treat he would not squander. His pleasure in this nothing short of clear as he afforded her that nod of agreement to see it done.

That Risque herself would need command from that rooftop, at least for a time, was not unanticipated. With so many cats to exact control over below she would need both a position of prominence and leverage to command them effectively even if it....displeased her to miss that initial carnage. Darcy in turn, as their most effective sniper, so forced to linger on the rooftop for the beginning of that battle in turn before joining that bloodbath below. The true fighting, he knew, would be when those bullets and Were's had become exhausted as those vampire to vampire battles begun in the ruthless bloodied glory he remembered so well. Hos very much it....pleased him to consider that battle to come. That near savage need within himself to obliterate something as strong as it had ever been and yet too how violently those protective instincts too managed to claw within him. He was...possessive over his Mistress. That possessive, territorialism having only deepened over the years into a veritable disease to which he was no longer immune. That depravity having become something far deeper even if, he suspected, that veritable depth was one-sided upon his own part. Risque was, in all but official title.....his mate. At least to his own mind. Even if he so hardly dared to think of her in those terms lest that very word slip accidentally from his lips. That very word one that had never been uttered between them even if he knew most of the vampiric world had long since seem them as such. How delicate a word it was. So simple and yet so wholly dangerous in its utterance. Risque more likely than not to revolt agianst such a label even if he would so willingly have afforded it to her. It implied an....equally between them he was near assured she was loath to give. That very chain at his neck so surely proof of that. Yet still, word or otherwise, it so hardly lessened those....feelings within himself. To use herself as bait, while surely provoking enough to prompt Cade to play his hand, so placed her at risk all the same. Those words escaping his lips quite before he could catch them entirely, Darcy quick to silence them, his gaze jerked away again.

To imply care was to imply he thought her weak enough to need it, even though it was hardly his intent. No part of him inclined to view her as anything other then power in every way. Those feelings far more attached to his own needs for possession then any lacking skill upon her part and yet how little he cared to explain those very things when that notion of love itself seemed to baffle her. Her reaction was near instantaneous all the same, her hand striking forward to press him back and into that rail. Risque stepping with confidence into his space as so few ever dared to do. Her words a short, sharp warning that affirmed her confidence in turn. Darcy well aware once more how precariously he balanced upon that proverbial knife's edge again. His words, this time, chosen with far more care.

"I know."

Short, simple, effective and so unlikely to further promote her ire while so subtly yielding to her conviction all at once. After all, her words were true. She had levelled Covens more fearsome than Cade before and she would do it again. Darcy not inclined to disbelieve and of the words his Mistress uttered. Idle threats and empty promises so hardly her style. He would need be more cautious with his own tongue tonight lest it get the better of him again. Her interest in that war at large to fortunately seeming to taper her temper and draw her darkened mind toward other endeavours. Darcy adding those further additions to their plans before that mention of liquid silver so saw his gaze cut sideways again. She had obtained it? She had mentioned it, of course and yet he remained unaware she had actually managed to procure it. The mere thought of that silvery liquid and the very pain it would bring so prompting that faintest lift off his own lip in disdain as if momentarily imagining that touch agianst his own skin. What a truly horrific end to a vampire, or a Were, that silver would bring. His intrigue however, was surely caught, his gaze lingered upon her feminine figure so bathed in that moonlight beside him.

"Ave ya tested it yet? On someone livin'? I'd like to see dat."

For all that veritable disdain the mere idea of silver so brought him that near fractured mind was wholly content to desire to see someone else suffer its results if only to feed that near morbid fascination within himself for that torment. Perhaps he lacked his Mistresses own unique....talent for torture and yet he so hardly found himself opposed to it in any sense. Risque's own gaze so shifted to glance out across that city then, a truly, truly rare smile finding her lips in that moment as she so insisted she would enjoy that upcoming war. Darcy aware of that very....excitement, of sorts, that lingered within her figure. Those predatory parts of himself eagerly content to feed from that very energy in turn. It had been to long since that had fought a war. He had missed the destruction, the carnage, the death- and the blood that soaked the earth so much like that very night they had met. Those memories, this time, stirred to the forefront of his own thoughts. That night he had first laid eyes upon his beloved Risque by far one of his most favoured memories. That very night so having changed the entirety of his life. She remembered too, didn't she? She would not have forgotten something so important as that. Her very assertion but moments later that of course she had not forgotten so prompting that satisfaction within the depths of his very being. As if her memory of that night alone so added some greater sense of purpose to that night. He was her favoured. He meant the most to her. He was certain of it. She remembered the night they had met. That alone somehow proof of her affections. His twisted mind so content to turn but even the vaguest gesture toward himself into some offer of the affection and attention he desperately craved.

Risque shifted then with that easy grace so aking to her selvete form to face him. Darcy's gaze finding that hypnotic blue of her own as those memories found their way from his lips. Beau had, whether intending to or not, summoned him to that battle that night. His Maker having met that truth death within mere moments of Darcy's own arrival on that battle field. He had barely been attached to Beau, had felt nothing for the man whom had made him beyond some vague sense of....familiarity. Yet the his Makers death had pained him all the same. A pain the very nature of that bond had demanded he feel. One that left a bloodied, gaping wound somewhere within his depths. Perhaps Beau's death had been the trigger from his own veritable bloodlust that night. His emotions had been.....out of control. He had been a vampire for only a few short years, one whom was veritable wild, untamed, raw, left to fend for himself in the Southern Wilds like some mustang colt on the plains. That battle had provided an outlet. A reason. A purpose. Yet even within the depths off his own blood-fueled delirium he had known Beau's side had not been winning. Why battle for a Coven he had never been apart of? Why avange some fucking fool of a man who'd abandoned him all the same? Why not take that chance to throw his lot in with the winning side? How many of either side he had killed that night he hardly knew. That majority of those vampires had been far more newborn then him. Such was the toll of war. War bred vampires in numbers unlike any other. Those few precarious years of age upon himself having at least prevented him becoming totally senseless amongst that blood-soaked field. His talent for battle furthering his own odds until there had been only two left. Risque and himself.

The world had been suddenly quiet. The groans of the dying somehow seemed to fade amongst those trees and shadows that littered the ground like blood and bodies. It was then that he had first seen her. Sliding between the trees like Lilith herself. Painted red in the blood of those she had cut down in her wake like some avenging angel from above. He had felt that power emanating from her even then. More potent, more deadly, more alluring then Beau had ever dreamed to be. Risque the most powerful vampire he had ever seen and how transfixed he had been. Each and every part of himself, both vampire and man, had been undeniably allured, drawn to her, desired her in ways he had desired nothing before. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he had known in those moments just whom and what he had stood before. He had hardly considered to fear her. Not amongst those other emotions that ricocheted with a riotous discord within himself as she near floated across that battlefield toward him. Risque's very words so penetrating that memory with her own, his lip lifting in a near fleeting simper at that memory she described in turn.

"I'd never seen nothin' like ya before. I could feel ya power, even den. Ya were...divine."

That awe of sorts so seemed find his voice even now, even at that mere memory of that night. Risque slid closer then, every part of his figure near instantly aware of her as her hand moved suddenly to grasp his throat. Even now, even after all those years, he so merely....allowed it. Darcy wholly accepting of that touch. Just like the evening they had met. Her words a near seductive purr within that reminiscence as her fingers loosened ever so slightly. Her touch alone nothing short of tantalizing. His desire for her clear even now. That icy finger that trailed down his face so prompting that small sound of want from within the depths of his throat. Did he remember what he did that very evening?

"O'course. I didn't know if I wanted ta fuck ya or fight ya. I tink we did both all at once."

A very thickness of sorts had managed to find those accented words, that desire tugging at him still within the depths of that memory. That fucking had been....animalistic, raw, a veritable battle between them all at once that he had survived on pure will alone. Somewhere within that carnal, deadly tango he had....attached himself to her. Mind, body and soul. Risque having filled that wound in the wake of Beau. She had become his Maker that night in every other way. Those mismatched eyes shifted away from her own then, just as they had done that very night, offering her that silent yield. One hand coming forward to rest on her waist. A yield and a desire...all at once, just like before. That single act, he suspected, having....surprised her that night. Her hand at his throat has loosened then, just as it did now. She'd snarled at him then. His own growl having risen to meet her and yet he'd taken advantage off that singular distraction with perhaps the boldest act off his very existence. Darcy wholly content to repeat it now. The vampire abruptly leaning forward to seize her lips with his own. Nothing about that kiss chaste in any sense. His tongue so easily slipping between her lips, feeling those fangs, searching to taste the blood that had drenched them both that night. She had been given every chance to slaughter him where he stood and yet....she hadn't. Even if he had never asked her why. Darcy lent but smoothly away then. That heated look lingering still as he stepped back.

"Ya taste better every time."

How reverently he offered those words, like a near prayer. Over a century later and he still stood beside her as loyally as he had the first night. Beau's name all but forgotten between them. He had existed as her own from that very evening. She had shown him the world. She had shown him everything. His tall, toned figure lent back agianst that railing once more. Darcy allowing that momentary memory to pass between them before asking once more after that war. The pair so returned to business again as was their way. That Tetradore and Harley would join that battle so hardly failing to thrill him and yet hope remained that Tetradore at least might get himself slain. How pleasurable that would be. Harley another manner entirely.

"She can fight well enough not ta be a 'inderance. She's gained a power, a control of metal. It ain't strong yet but it could be useful."

She would be even more useful if she kept her fucking mouth closed. That raven-haired woman inclined to talk like no other. Risque seeming to find a near perverse amusement in his lamation of the fact. Her words prompting that snort from him then as she queried his need for assistance.

"Please, she might fucking yabber but she ain't near as tough as she tinks she is. A few more nights wit me and she'll be compliant. As for pullin' out dare animal, dats easy for ya, me Darlin', yar can command it from dem. I gotta beat it outta dem till day smart enough ta shift when I command it. By da time im done beatin' 'em day useless for half da night while day recover. At least day 'eal fast. Tetradore still sights me most of da time. Fucking prick dat one."

His shoulders lifted in that simple shrug. Tetradore a decidedly sore point for the man and one Risque knew off all to well. Darcy attempting, for once, to brush off that other man and his pitiful existence least Risque attempt to torment him with it, somehow. Weres and their training were simple enough, in the end. That mention of Harley relative, a recent discovery of his own, seeming to seize her interest. Adrien? She knew his name? That surprise flickered briefly within his own gaze before his head shook.

"I didn't get da chance ta finish 'im. He wasn't me target. I was feeding on some 'uman boy down dem back streets. Den dis 'unter, dis Adrien, shows up- throwing his fucking spears at me. Da 'uman was already dead. I got what I wanted, I left. He's like 'is sister. Couldn't leave da dying boy ta chase me. To many of dem morals in is veins. I'll go and kill 'im if ya want it done. I got his scent."

He was hardly fool enough to waste his time and energy to defend a meal he'd already finished. That mention of Nathaniel, another man Darcy was inclined to disdain, prompting that frown to his features and yet he saw no need to turn down that information so freely offered. All the better to provoke Harley with a little.

"Yar didn't. What did ya brother do? 'Arley mentioned 'im too."

Her very insistence that Were's were made to serve the worthy seemed an entirely accurate observation.

"Dis world was made to serve ya, Darlin'. More wine?"

We are rough men and used to rough ways.