There had undoubtedly been something amiss with their shared Mistress, of that Tetradore had no doubts, though he cared distinctly little for the woman's interest within the fae. It had hardly mattered to him so much as the simple resemblance the poor, unsuspecting fae had with his own father, and the fate he would have inevitably suffered if Tetradore had left him alive. At the very least, however, turning Darcy's focus upon Risque sufficiently distracted the Southerner from questioning his own actions. It was almost easy to spark that obsession within Darcy - to suggest that the vampiress had spent her time with other men irregardless of what she had actually done with them, her perceived interest, or the fate of those other men. All that mattered to Darcy was whether or not someone with a dick was within the vicinity of Risque - as if he had even the slightest say in the matter. Really, Tetradore would have almost liked to watch Darcy attempt to tell the woman who she could and could not speak to. It was a feeble wish, however, the Were-Panther well aware of Darcy's tendency to merely eliminate any he viewed as a threat, himself excluded.

The sudden command upon the cowboy's lips prompted a scowl from the Were-King. Those demands had a fashion of grating against his own Alpha tendencies. The air between them was constantly rifled with an imperceptible fight for dominance that neither man was inclined to step down from - even if Tetradore was well aware that in a physical brawl, Darcy would best him every time. Still, he knew better then to simply remain silent when Darcy's attention was focused upon him. His answer was vague at best, Tetradore entirely willing to lead Darcy on a wild goose chase for some warlock when he truthfully had hardly paid enough attention to Risque's business enough to even describe a single discernable feature of, much less a name. His brow rose as Darcy insisted he was a waste of space. This was hardly a new insult in the slightest. For years he'd been told of just how useless he was, of how unwanted his presence was, his entire life subject to Risque's whims, being little more than her favored slave. "Yeah, whatever." He mumbled back, the emerald hue of his vibrant gaze returning towards the television regardless of what played on the screen. Anything, he was sure, was better than listening to Darcy.

For several wondrous moments, Tetradore left Darcy to his own thoughts. He was well aware of the man's fingers tapping against the workbench, though the Were-King gave it distinctly little heed. He listened halfheartedly as Darcy spoke of how distinctly rare fae were, much less the sheer cost of acquiring one such creature for the sole purpose of feeding. Frankly, Tetradore wasn't surprised the species was 'rare' when every god damned vampire make an effort to murder them out of existance. Really, it was almost a miracle Matteo was still alive after all these years. It was only Darcy's insistence that he owed him that finally caused his lips to part, Tetradore near immediately rejecting the notion, his tone near holding a distinct aggressiveness to it. That growl that reverberated within the back of Darcy's throat caused his gaze to narrow as he glowered at the vampire. "No, I fucking aint." He retorted, so purposely throwing the Southerner's phrasing right back at him. How he refused to pay for a life - it made the fae no better than himself - a fucking slave.

The very last thing Tetradore was considering, however, was his own involvement with Risque. It had, admittedly, been years since she had dragged him into the depths of her bedroom with the intent of enjoying all that she claimed was her own. Frankly, he was almost grateful to Darcy for that singular fact though his thoughts so staunchly refused to venture down that path. The cowboy's inquiry of his sexual relationship with his mistress caused the Panther's gaze to cut sharply towards the vampire. His voice was distinctly curt, that 'no' perhaps more forceful the necessary and yet - god, how he hated those nights. They were, in so many ways, so often worse then everything else she might put him through for her own warped entertainment. He could hardly help those words that left his lips next, even if he knew how they might doom him the very moment he uttered them. Tetradore excelled at hindsight, though the young Were so often lacked the self-control to appropriately cope with even the memory of those more traumatic events he so often pretended simply didn't exist.

The rancor within Darcy's Southern drawl was palpable, and yet, Tetradore was not one to back down, even when he knew he stood on such dangerously thin ice. Though Tetradore had expected a retaliation, those vampiric reflexes were far faster than his own, the Alpha aware of Darcy's fingers wrapping around his throat a moment too late before he was thrown back into the wall behind him, the impact alone dazing him for a brief moment before he became increasingly aware of that difficulty in simply breathing. His hands near immediately rose to Darcy's wrist, as if he could pry the vampire off of him. Darcy's lips peeled back, flashing those rows of sharpened teeth that could tear him apart in mere moments as the pair of men simply stared at one another. Undauntingly, Tetradore's emerald eyes met the coldness of Darcy's own, though with the lack of breath offered to him, his words were little more than a wheeze. "You....heard...me." Darcy, he knew, was hardly the greatest at self-control and yet, even he feared Risque's displeasure. There were times, such as these, where Tetradore was willing to rely upon his Mistress' possessiveness, as much as he disdained it.

The last thing Tetradore anticipated, however, was Darcy's comment upon his performance. As if he was supposed to enjoy being raped. A seething feline-like hiss left Tetradore's lips, For once there was no witty comeback and no rebellious remark, that sound alone all that Tetradore was capable of producing to express those turbulent emotions. At least, until Darcy mentioned his mother. A pure, unyielding hatred flashed through those emerald irises. This time, Tetradore gave no warning before he called to his own affinities, those shadows whipping into existence with the full strength of his power, "Don't you fucking dare talk about her." Tetradore spoke, the words little more than a threatening growl before, suddenly, his gift for teleportation embraced them. They were falling, falling into darkness so black even Tetradore could hardly see more than the man mere inches in front of his face. The Alpha hardly cared, at that moment, about the impending impact and his own death. After all, he'd just regenerate. Maybe, if he was lucky, Darcy would land on a fence post that would impale him. That might make this death worth it. But no impact came. They were merely falling...and falling.....and falling.

My heart is just to dark too care. I can't destroy what isn't there

so if you love me let me go

Deliver me into my fate & leave me with my sins
If you still care, don't ever let me know