Trapped like a butterfly with delicate wings fastened to a board, still alive, was like how she had his arm seized within her grasp. There was no indication of her own intentions on what she planned to do with him, she merely watches him with those arctic impassive eyes. Feeling his grip tighten against that railing in a desperate plea to maintain his illusion of strength only seemed to amuse her. It would have been a lie if she didn't think of making him writhe beneath her, those dominant urges came to her so swiftly and frequently it was nothing short of innate. How she craved that total surrender and yet Darcy had been vindicated for his prior sins, if anything he showed her a glimpse of his own power, beyond mere parlour tricks, he had pleased her, there was no denying it. In that very moment he was worthy, worth of that rank, of her whimsical affections. Yet trailing in that thought there is another part of her, in an instant, playing out a thousand different scenarios of what she could and would do to him and yet the one she chooses seemed to be the most surprising of them all. That kiss, lingering simply taking her time, her tongue darting out slightly tasting the velvet smooth skin as though she could taste what lay beneath that easily torn surface. How she wants to use and abuse him and yet it was only a mere kiss. He seems to prepare for her assault, submitting to his very fate willingly and it never came. His weak form like a mortal at her mercy. A mercy she offered him now, only he hardly knew it. Even still she could feel his demeanor shift to her touch, the stirrings of desire, despite his desperate hunger prickled beneath the surface. It only made her lover that more appealing to her in that moment, his body and mind trained to near perfection. She has him right where she wants him and she has that power to strip him of everything or give him all.

She releases him, allowing him to regain control of himself once more, leaning against the railing, lamenting upon the demolished Max's shortcomings. She would make a lesson of him, for the others. At least his death would serve yet another purpose besides a macabre stain upon concrete only to be washed away from that impeding rain. It would serve nicely to strike fear, and respect in one hefty blow. That final remaining piece of Max, in the form of his chewing gum was launched off the building, flicking it away like one would rid themselves of a spec of dirt. Disgusting waste of a vampire, she thought. That mention of mortals having weird habits needling within her mind. "I will never understand it, the future of vampire's will be bleak if the likes of Max are the ones gifted with immortality." It was revolting. They did the world a favour, plucking out the unworthy within their garden, a weed destroyed and never to be thought of again.

Risque was not surprised to see the effects of hunger assaulting him, that power obviously taking a toll upon his form. As much as she enjoyed him weak there was a part of her that wanted him strong, he had proven and given himself freely. He was due for a reward, one she intended to offer him this time, her own hunger peaking from that sheer carnage below. He was useless to ask anything more of, he had given all he had to give and yet if she asked, he would have attempted to deliver, even if he so failed in trying. Bringing Hans forward toward his sentence, she utters those french words before she bit, ignoring his deplorable cries for mercy in his mother's tongue. His blood was just as she remembered from those previous nights, if not better considering he had been fed food to bring out his appealing taste. Darcy needing little prompting to indulge in his offered prize, that sickening sound of vampires feeding lost to the night.

Risque hardly paid any heed to Han's own discomfort as she had her fill of his blood, that hot substance filling her veins with new life. Her own skin, although still pale and ethereal, seemed to take on a stolen warmth from her German feast. How she relished in that very heat. She took her fill, hardly needing as much as Darcy required in that moment, she was satisfied, at least for now, that echoed that contentment within a sigh escaped those lush blood painted lips. She knew her little mortal would not survive the night, his blood feeding not only one but two vampires would surely pay its toll upon him. It was then that her eyes slice toward Darcy who had easily readjusted with her and the human in her arms, he feasted with a vengeance as though it was his first meal in weeks. It betrayed how weak and needing he was of that fluid, as much as it was an indication of his teetering resolve.

She could already sense the damage that would lay in wake, that ravaged hand, barely functioning at all when he pulled away and yet.... Part of her wanted to see that carnage he concealed from her simply because it pleased her. He had already seemed plentiful stronger with every gulp of that delicious satisfying, replenishing blood. It was obvious in his stance, in that savage way he seemed ready to defend what was his. Yet it hardly stopped her from reaching toward his face, which was akin to petting a rabid dog with a carcass. She could feel the vibration of a rumbling growl through the palm of her unmoving hand. That growl was near anticipated and yet equally uncalled for, her lips pull into a tighter line. She clicked her tongue at him a tsking manner, shaking her head languidly from left to right and yet she chooses not to strike. She could have pried him away from this meal, chastise him for that indiscretion that he hardly truly acted upon it. If he were a newborn vamp, he would have probably recklessly attacked, and yet his resolve, as weakened as it was, he was stronger than that. Yet it was an indiscretion all the same. She could have stolen that blood right back, greedy and true while she pinned him still, only to make him weak. How prone she was to do just that. Yet he seems to gather a grip over himself, that resolve seizing him as she expected it would. As if salvaging a semblance of control Darcy's eyes shot open, the intricate mismatch of that very graze daring to meet her own. It was the look she wanted in that moment, a gamble as it was to ever blatantly look into her depthless gaze.

Yet, how in that moment she wanted him strong as if torn between the possibility of both submission and strength, travelling down an impossibly rickety line that was near impossible to achieve. Just as long as she remained in control. In a capricious poised resolution, the merely waits for his tense figure to soothe beneath her touch. That struggle was ever apparent, a war against instincts and desire. His own resolve winning out this time, as seemed to relish in her touch for but a moment before letting go that mangled wrist. It was damaged worse off than she though, his very hand seemed to barely remain attached. Her gaze with him breaks if only to take in that ravaged nub, that leaked, dripping onto the floor below. How brutal those fangs were, how efficient his bite was. How well she knew, her own flesh had welcomed that brutal attack, craved that very pain he could inflict with an ease in the throes of desire. She licked some of the remaining blood that coated her very lips as if some sick anticipation washed over her, lost in some horrific reverie before shattering it to allow her gaze meeting his own waiting eyes once more. She uttered that command and offer all the same, to be able to have the opportunity to finish him while her hand pulled away to further prop up that hulking man. How that grin seemed to alight his features like she had rewarded him with the very world, his bloodied lips twitching into a smile.

Her grip upon that wriggling prey hardened, that man knowing this time, that this game was no mere game but a look into his own demise. He was no match for her in her vampiric glory. He appeared paler than he had before, his body threatening to slip into shock if he hadn't already. Smart man, she thought passingly, but his fate was still sealed, smart.. dumb.. it hardly mattered. It was rare to find a meal that seemed to know her intentions before she executed them, and he certainly trained well. He could have found a purpose amongst their ranks and yet how truly finished she was with turning another and with that nearly severed hand he was damaged goods. Darcy was quick to seize that very moment, as she knew he would the moment that she offered it to him. Without anymore prompting, that sound of anticipation rumbled within his throat, that sound appealing to her. Almost instantaneously the German man thrashed within her arms and how, futile it was. That final bite would surely bring him to his end. Quickly, like snuffing out a candle between pinched fingertips. The sound of Darcy's brutal fangs slicing into his throat met her ears, that sound appealing in every way, her eyes seem to glow even though she had just fed. It was almost instantaneous the way that artery ruptured, blood bursting as that vein was severed far more thoroughly than his useless hand. Too much blood flowed for the greedy vampire to consume, despite the way he tired. The mortal within her arms began to convulse, the sounds parting from his lips nothing more than gasping broken air gurgling as his own blood seems to choke his punctured throat. The man was dead before her undead cowboy had finished his meal. How inconsiderate her mortal was in death, having no decency to die when the meal was over. She hardly cared that there were very few living creatures that could survive his bite.

Obviously, he seemed stronger, rejuvenated from being depleted to a man entirely ready to face an army, that comparison stark as the blood that marred their paper white skin. That utterance of that meal's perfection met her in appreciation. "If only his tenacity to live matched his durability." That tone near blasé as if she was at some wine tasting, that lingering taste of that stolen life dancing upon her tongue. He wiped away that blood from his lips upon his sleeve like it was a napkin and yet it did little to rid himself completely. A hesitation sprawled between them. Risque. It was like he truly considered those words before... his face grew solemn, her name fresh upon his tongue. That formation of her name seemed odd in that moment, intimate, or perhaps even grave like he had some forbidden confession that would obliterate her mood.

She was content. Hans or whatever his true name was would be yet another nameless corpse to the city of Sacrosanct. As far as she was concerned, his purpose fulfilled. His lifeless eyes staring, unseeing whilst the very terror her felt seemed to linger within those depths, even in the clutches death. There was something alluring about it, one she noticed as he was simply released from her hold haphazardly, to a crumpled heap at her feet. She stepped away so that she no longer had to touch him, or so that blood hardly marred her shoes. That body met the ground with a meaty thud, his head slamming against the concrete floor, cracking against that unyielding hard surface. It seemed to snap that serene moment and she hardly glanced at the corpse at her feet. Suspicion flooded through her as Darcy easily extended out for her to take his hand. She simply took her time, as if uninclined to do so before placing her hand within his own, but not without studying his face first. He led her with smooth precision toward that railing then, the storm building in the distance. She could see sheet lighting blanketing the distant turbulent night sky, foreboding its own way.

He met her own gaze, ensnaring it, her expression fathomless even though she seemed slightly curious of what seemed to be burning through him. She did not lie, part of her was expecting some admittance of betrayal, of guilt. Her eyes narrowing, her lover hardly reacting beneath the weight of that gaze, the man never baulked. He began to speak that distant thunder accentuating his first few words, if he was nervous, he hardly showed it. That mystifying word... love was mentioned again and then meal sharing.. where was he going with this? In a rare display of patience, she waited for him to get to that point he was attempting to make... that mention of mate has her tipping her head to the side. Had her venom spiked his drink? Oh, please don't tell her he was drunk from that blood. It was truly possible. She raised a manicured brow in response. "What is it you are trying to say?" those words sliced through that suffocating silence, tasting every single word he said along with her own.

He had hit her with those words of adoration not once.. but twice this evening. It was just as startling as the first. She blinks slowly, staring at him as if he had had transformed before her very eyes. She was far too perplexed by those words of adoration, or that very look that mirrored it within his mismatched gaze. The term mate. Now that was new, coming from him. What did that even mean? For a moment she was blank, like she simply malfunctioned, not a twitch of a lip, a batting of a single eyelash. It was like someone had simply turned off a switch. He brought her slender hand toward his lips, that gesture endearing and yet she hardly registers it. He met her gaze once more before releasing her hand that fell once more to her side, her fingertips grazing over the smooth fabric of that dress. Easily the cowboy retreated toward the crumpled body of Hans. What was he doing? She was certain he was blood drunk, acting strangely and yet he had gorged himself before and it never seemed to bother him in this way. He moved without hesitation, entirely confident and with purpose in every action and she remains exactly where she stood.

Easily, his hand dove into the dead man's chest, that sickening sound echoing within her ears as he fished out that intact organ. Those arteries holding it in place easily ripped away, his hands now dripping in the remaining blood, she watched on, observing the pleasing sight and yet they wandered into the darkness of unchartered territory. He strode toward her.. hand outstretched, holding out that offering for her, an entirely symbolic gesture to his subsequent words. How she could hardly comprehend what had gotten into him and yet was it that farfetched? She makes no notion to take it, at least not yet.

"Tell me... what is it you get from this, hm?" Her words dripping along his flesh and she brushed against him with the side of her body, her fingertips toying with touching him, barely making a nonsensical but seamless trail. She hesitates behind him, drawing her head closer, her breath trickling out as if to have him anticipate some kind of abrasive contact. "Do others not already see us as....mates, like you said, is that not enough?" she tastes that word upon her tongue. She simply takes her time as though this were some composed dance of her own making, her body sinuous and the subtle click of her heels seemed to punctuate both movement and her words. If she truly expected an answer, she hardly knew and yet she asked them all the same. Did she care? This term mate, it was perplexing as it was vexing. Was it just an excuse of some form of ownership? How many people tried to own her and failed, died trying. Even in life, how many times had she warded off those suitors by any means necessary. Those only people left standing were the ones that were not demanding. Had he not survived her this long and given her everything she asked for. A man groomed to suit her very needs, eager for her approval and yet just audacious enough that he was no mere annoying puppet. Just as he was now, asking a question no one who valued their life would have asked her. Not a single soul would have asked anything of this magnitude from her. It felt altering in some way and yet how hardly she knew much about mates besides their existence. Was he not already hers? What would this title even gain them when others already perceived them as such.... And yet.... It was then that she finally realized his demand was fully selfish. He had wanted her... as much as she had claimed ownership of him. Now he wishes for the same?

"You want me to be yours?" She uttered those very words, no true question harboured beneath them and yet it was spoken as such. She was before him now, that very heart offered within his hands to her, for her to take. How conflicted it made her feel, how much she hated that very feeling. She snarled, her lips suddenly pulling back to expose those deadly sharpened spears that seem to elongate as if she chose to attack him. Why? Because of his words? Because of his offer? Because of his love? She hardly knew. She pressed into him her hand grabbing at the collar of his already disheveled shirt, the remaining blood from the wound she had inflicted on him prior still remained. She looked positively feral as she seized him by the shirt, pushing him back while he still held onto that very heart he offered her. How dare he ask her such nonsense. How dare he.

How dare he try to possess her! Yet in some deranged way didn't he already? Hardly in the way she would expect. Her mind wars against itself. A riot within the confines of her skull. The dominant being that she was distasting the idea of being attached to something or someone and yet the other part had already claimed him as her own. Another ravaged snarl ripped from her throat as she all but herded him into the railing, so his back bit into that concrete, her hand an immovable force until he practically leaned off that precarious edge. For a moment she appears like she might simply push him off her high tower, like she might strike him down. Her fathomless hypnotic eyes all but boring into his own. She hardly knew her next action let alone have it be predicted by him. She had once punched a man for simply trying to hold her hand in life. As a vampire, she was unpredictable as the ominous storm. She was coiled as if she might strike, as though she might punish him.... For something.. for what she hardly knew. As her hand lowers to that hand holding that blood morsel, cradling his hand underneath his own guiding it upward so she could look from it to him, it's almost painful the way she says absolutely nothing. That ruby red heart glistening appetizingly as it beckons. She lifted that fresh offering even closer, fixing Darcy with a narrowed expression before she brought that bleeding heart to her lips. Her own guiding hand cradling his own still holding that bloodied heart. She should have tossed him off that building. Yet, she might have surprised herself as she all but plunged her teeth into it without mercy into that bloody morsel. How eager it seemed to flood her mouth with an obedient eagerness. It was still warm and right from the source. How juicy that singular organ was, that meat tough but inside that trapped blood was its most delicious, flavourful and like velvet upon her reddened tongue, like a fine dessert to be savoured.

That lifeblood eagerly spilled from her lips despite swallowing that fresh thick substance, closing her eyes to simply enjoy it. How that offering was so much more than just something that appeals to her roaring appetites. She knew it and yet she took anyways as if some insatiable creature wanting everything and taking it. The sky rumbled, feeling it vibrate through the very building beneath their feet.. that impending storm drawing ever closer. How perfect that timing was in its own way. That acceptance, that bond born in a storm that very well mimicked them. Volatile, dangerous and yet in its own hellish, destructive mayhem it was eloquently striking as it was deadly. Lightning cracked across the sky, the rain threatening to spill and yet it pauses like an inhale waiting for something, she could smell it amongst the blood and death.

Princess released an anxious sound as if she knew what was coming that she easily ignored. Only once she drained it dry did she unsheathed her fangs from that once plump morsel, as though it had seemingly shrunk, taking all there was from it. She dragged her tongue along that surface to devour just one more taste, her tongue forming along the grooves of that offered treat. Her eyes suddenly open, that look wild and unpredictable as a tiger in that moment, staring into his very soul. Lowering her own hand, what he did with that husk was now entirely up to him. That look that said everything and yet nothing at all, especially when her grip loosens upon his shirt but her hand remains her fingertips toying with the metal chain around his throat as if tracing those links. " Je ne te forcerai pas à s'agenouiller... à personne sauf à moi. I won't make you kneel... not to anyone but me."She hissed softly, He was a fool blinded by love and adoration and yet what did that make her? Did she not ensnare him from that very first night? She should have killed him then, where he stood when he gave her those eyes. She should have known better and yet she was fascinated by that very thing. Test it she did, and it only made him stronger. She pauses for but a moment as if considering something obscure, her index finger balancing that chain upon her fingertip, pressing her body against him. How easily he played Russian roulette with her. How he knew her, had all the warnings and yet still he wants more. So very demanding and yet had he not earned his right by her side? How many have failed to even get close enough, like a vampire trying to reach for the sun. "Oui.. I'll accept." How her heart had long since died, but he could have the space where it once was and the ashes that are left. " My mate.." She nearly cooed those foreign sounding words together and even then they sounded possessive and all-consuming as though somewhere beneath the surface was a threat interlaced all at once. Just like that, the sky cracked open.