There was something distinctly...malicious within Risques words. The vampiric woman seemed to taste them upon her tongue. Did he wish to wager it? How very loaded that question was. Darcy had made his very living from gambling. The southern cowboy assured there was near nothing that could not be bet upon under the right circumstance and yet- he hardly possessed any true affinity for gambling as so many believed. Indeed- those abilities were all his own. His talent for numbers having served him decidedly well over the years- along with knowing just when and on what to bet. Choosing that moment, that situation, was critical. Darcy so rarely ever daring to gamble an event with odds he found....unlikely to satisfy his needs. The very game Risque offered him held far to many unknowns. His Mistress' moods were fickle. Her ability to change that game at any moment to suit her own needs was....likely. This would be a terribly poor bet to make and yet by equal measure, to refuse to indulge her might prove equally.....precarious. That very choice a gamble in itself. Yet Rique was a veritable game he had played before

"What do yar wanna wager on it, darlin?"

That very query so neither rejected nor accepted her suggestion. Darcy was merely seeking to gather more...information on just what Risque intended with her devilishly wrapped words that felt near akin to bait on a hook. After all, Darcy so hardly wished to fall victim to her displeasure, not tonight, not when he had already worked distinctly hard in an effort to make up for her muddied shoes and outfit. Tetradore, for once, seemed inclined to be compliant as he settled upon their struggling victim. The sheer weight of the big cat alone was surely....uncomfortable and yet Darcy had long ago lost any sense of empathy for those beings who fell into Risques clutches. After all, she was...a goddess upon this earth. They should be thankful that it was she who brought them death. That alone was a privilege. Risque's command to begin cranking that lever prompted Darcy's own ready obedience. The Southern vampire was....eager to see that machine in action. The scent of blood within the air only further drove those predatory instincts. It would be almost fascinating to see tetradore's saliva work on someone other than himself. Darcy, even now, uninclined to allow even a drop of that acidic substance to find his skin. Not after the pain he had suffered the last time. The very memory of it near coaxing a snarl from him before his thoughts shifted to that unfortunate Fae and whether or not all of his limbs might come loose at once. That near perverse thought had no sooner been offered from his lips then Risque seemed to consider it in turn. Both vampires, in that moment, contemplated the joint removal of every limb at once before Tetradore lent forward.

The Panther was far faster then either vampire had truly anticipated. Tetradore's jaws seized that Fae violently, the puncture of teeth through skull and sinew near echoed within that room before the Fae's lifeless body fall back agianst the wood of the rack he lay on. It had been a long damn time since Tetradore had shown that much....audacity. That blind defiance was more then bold, it was damn near suicidal. What in the fuck was Tetradore doing? For the briefest of moments that...confusion near eclipsed Darcy's own rage at having had his Beloved's birthday gift ruined. Darcy so momentarily allowed his gaze to shift from the Fae to Tetradore and back again. The panther hardly felt the same pull toward that Fae blood as he himself did. Had those animal instincts merely....gotten the better of him? Yet control was very near Tetradore's greatest strength. Drawing a reaction from the cat was nothing short of difficult at the best of times. This was....something else. Darcy's own distinctly cunning mind so readily began to turn over those...curiositys and yet he could near feel Risque's rage beside him. That was far more dangerous.

The vampiric queen took barely a moment to confirm the death of her prize before a near vicious snarl was spat free of her lips. That very sound prompted Darcy to shift back and away from Tetradore and the dead Fae alike. That submissive action was nothing short of clear. An effort to appease his mistress and spare himself. Darcy was nothing if not....an opportunist. This a veritably perfect time to allow himself to fade into the background and Tetradore to suffer the brunt of Risques displeasure. That little Prick had ruined his birthday gift and yet oh how satisfying it was to watch Tetradore fall victim to Risques rage like he deserved. This....was better than watching that Fae die. Darcy could help help that small glimmer of satisfaction that lingered somewhere within the depths of his mismatched gaze as he shifted further back into the shadows of the chamber.

Risque's hand flew outward, striking the panther with enough force to shatter bone before her fingers grasped his scruff- only to hurl him to the ground where he fucking belonged. Oh, this was a far better show. How very...arousing it was to watch that vampire woman within all her glory. Risque's command to stay down lashed like a whip at the unfortunate feline. The heel of her shoe was pressed against his ebony fur, Darcy near waiting for her to stab him with it, to make him bleed- before his name was suddenly uttred from her lips. The vampires head jerked upward, his gaze quick to find his Mistress's own and yet how...displeasing it was that she had remembered him again.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

That response was near trained. Those words of obedience uttered instinctively. Salvage that blood. Darcy was nearly forced to clamp shut his own jaw to prevent that growl that rose within his throat from finding its way out. That blood was like a siren song. The scent of it alone, cloying that room, was enough to drive at his hunger. To ask him to...handle it....without taking so much as a taste was near tortuous. The very intent of Risques desires so becoming clear then. She meant to punish him too. Not near so much as tetradore perhaps and yet her displeasure in him had clearly not been forgotten. Her assurance he would suffer Tetradores fate if he stole even a taste of that blood only furthered that displeasure within himself.

"As yar wish."

Those very words were near uttered through clenched teeth. Darcy so already attempting to prevent himself inhaling any more of that scent. If he did not breath, at least he did not have to taste the air and yet how poorly he trusted himself. He could feel that saliva pooling within his jaws already. That want for blood was...insatiable. To touch it without consuming it was a test of his control he was near...notorious for failing. Yet- how often he waited for Risque to feed from any victim they shared first. His respect for her dominance and authority so often ensured just that. His fear of her wrath equally as potent. Even if she had never had a victim so...delectable before. Tetradore was nearly forgotten in those moments as Darcy moved toward the Fae's body. The vampire determined not to take even a single breath. His body hardly needed air after all. His mismatched gazed shifted sideways. The vampire determined to stare at the cold stone of the wall. Anything to distract him from the warmth of the bleeding body within his arms as he hoisted that Fae up from the rack.

Risques commanded Tetradore to change back into his human form so momentarily distracted the Southern Vampire as he dragged that body across the room. How he loathed the very idea of Risque so viewing Tetradore in his human body. Even if those...intimate desires were far from her thoughts. A soft growl of displeasure rose within the vampire's throat. The faintest scent of that Fae reaching his nostrils with that action. Fuck. Tetradore was once more pushed from his mind as Darcy so hoisted the Fae up and onto tht blood collection machine. It was with a near vampiric bust of speed that the man began to connect those IV lines to drain that blood as efficiently as possible. That scent was everywhere now. God. That saliva behind his lips was near threatening to run from them. Darcy so practically drooling over that blood. Yet how potent that fear of his mistress was in turn. Those warring instincts so doing little more than winding up that infamous aggression within himself. Darcy so practically stabbing the Fae with that last IV before another explosion of speed saw the vampire retreat to the far side of the room. Risque had not commanded him to stay beside that body. Darcy so forced himself to face the wall. To look away from that blood. To smell nothing but the cold stone and yet....that blood was on his hands. He could feel that sticky sensation. Would she know if he licked his fingers?

As if on cue, Risque's gaze cut towards him again. Her voice near prompted him to flinch as if she had seen his very thoughts. Darcy dared to peer over his shoulder and towards her from his self-appointed place in the far corner of the room. That command to bring her a glass of that blood and her silver was met with a nod as his teeth ground over one another. It had not been worth it to taste Tetradore's blood. Not for this punishment. Oh how well that lesson had been learned. Darcy stepped away from the wall several moments later. The vampire diligently fishing out that desired glass from one of the cupboards about the room. His hands kept as far from his own lips as was practical in that moment. The Fae was near drained of that blood entirely now. Darcy moved to dip that glass into the collected blood below, filling it as Risque desired. His gaze, this time, unable to look away from that blood and it moved so temptingly within the glass. What he wouldn't have done for just a taste. A single taste. How readily he could feel his tongue brush against his own lips and fangs in anticipation. A single glance was cast towards Risque, her focus still on Tetradore. She wouldn't notice, surely? And yet....that promise to suffer Tetradore's fate was so hardly merely words on her part.

A growl of distinctly pure frustration rose from within his throat. Darcy directing that aggression and frustration towards the only safe and viable source. Himself. That response so purely animalistic. His fangs puncturing his own arm. That desire to bite....something so momentarily satisfied even despite the pain of those lacerations. The taste of his own blood was nothing short of....displeasing. Darcy near eager to use that very taste to block out the scent of that Fae blood as he near hurried across the room once more to present Risque with that glass she had required and that box of silvered implements. His distinctly mauled arm nothing short of proof of that struggle. Darcy so distinctly avoiding looking at that blood-filled glass once more. His gaze instead focusing upon Tetradore upon that rack. That- was a far more pleasing sight.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.