The vampiric cowboy's efforts to explain what he remembered of that battle were nothing short of...taxing upon his system. His mind struggled near desperately beneath that hunger and bloodied haze and veritable concoction of drugs that had settled with discord within his system. He could remember...pieces, fragments, moments in time that seemed haphazardly placed and loosely connected. He remembered his outrage at Tetradore,his desire to tear Cade's mate apart in a frenzied furrore of aggression he simply could not control. Yet- he remembered that utterly undeniable...tug of sorts. A sensation quite unlike anything he had ever felt before. One that exerted an immeasurable and unignorable power that demanded he do the impossible. That which had been deemed un-achievable for his own species. To break that blood lust. To change direction. To seek his mate instead of his meal. The very impact of that, it seemed, had not been lost upon either predator. His very species, after all, was believed to be incapable of such....choice. Not within a blood fueled haze and yet that....feeling had been undeniable. That feeling was one he could not name. One Risque, in turn, seemed....displeased not to be able to identify. Neither vampire, after all, had ever truly felt such a thing, much less given it a name. That very act, perhaps, the first for his species. One that seemed to settle with consideration within the depths of his mates own mind, Darcy's own thoughts, once more, seeming to struggle to linger upon that very thing when that hungered drive still persisted, his mind content to flit between one thought and another with haphazard disregard.

Risque's own form moved to settle beside him upon the bed, her mere presence seeming to...settle the ravager- if only slightly as his head shook. Darcy was inclined to admit he had felt that very feeling she spoke of and yet he hardly had a name for it, a justification, a reason as to why it persisted or how it had managed to force the impossible upon him. His tongue shifted to brush over his wicked fangs in a subtle search for any hint of blood still left between them. That hunger, once more, began to wreak havoc within his system and tug at his senses. That small glass of blood had not been enough and yet- that promise of Risques' own so seemed enough, for now, to prompt the vampiric cowboy to cling those remaining shreds of control. A control that had been sorely tested beyond any limit Risque had ever imposed upon him before. His mate's displeasure, however, had being unable to name that sensation was nothing short of clear. The vampiric woman's near hypnotic gaze seemed to darken as his finger idly traced that place upon her chest where she had felt that undeniable tug. Risque did not like a lack of answers, she did not like middle ground or gray scale. His mate sought definition in all she did. She saw no value in the ambiguous. Found displeasure in that which was unanswered.Those very traits so distinctly appealing to Darcy in turn. The black and white of the rules of their world, after all, were the very measures which had offered him any ability for control to begin with. Risque's clear discord, however, prompted his hand to reach for her own. That very act seemed to coax a wince to his features, his wounded figure disdaining that movement- despite how very small it was- his fingers entwining with her own. His figure shifted slightly more, Darcy leaning over to press his lips to her cheek in a subtle and yet no less potent display of affection. The cowboy inclined to seek her closeness, her touch, her presence....while making some effort to sooth her own irritation. Those answers, after all, hardly existed for either of them. Not tonight.

Risque so hardly made any effort to pull away. That singular touch of affection within the darkness of their bedroom reserved for them alone. A quiet, hidden moment. One, perhaps, that juxtaposed the sounds that lingered outside. Even within his current state the Ravager was nothing short of aware of those male vampires that lingered outside the bedroom door. Each one waiting for an....opportunity to be rid of him. Employees or not such things hardly mattered to their kind. They were a bloodied species, a ruthless one and one so designed to dominate no matter the cost. His very position within the coven of Syn seemed to teeter precariously. He could hardly defend himself. Not tonight, perhaps not even tomorrow or the night after. That position for dominant male within Syn so seemingly attracted nearly every male vampire within its radius as several hissing spats seemed to occur outside the door itself. A door Risques near glorious gaze seemed to fixate on with discord and displeasure. She alone was Queen. She alone would be called upon to either accept or reject whichever man managed to scramble to the top of that metaphorical hill of bodies that would surely be left in the wake of a civil war within Syn itself. Yet, that mated bond so readily seemed to prompt a different reaction within the Vampiric Queen of the Damned. Risque's desire to protect what was hers, to protect him overruling all else. Risque's will, it seemed, was to protect his position....for him. That very realization seemed to prompt a deep-seated....satisfaction within the cowboy. Even if he hardly moved to show it tonight.

Risques sudden near blunt insistence, however, that he had nearly died, prompted Darcy's own mismatched gaze to shift from the door and toward his lover. Her every word was sharply pronounced- as if seeking to drive home that very notion. He had nearly died....to save her. That stark reality seemed to prompt that declaration from her in turn. The world had gone mad, she insisted, but she would allow no one to touch him. It was, perhaps, that lack of blood within his own body and mind that so suddenly seemed to provoke that nea bizarre response from the vampiric cowboy. Darcy's lips so suddenly seemed to spread into a grin, one that showed each and every sharpened tooth before that sudden, abrupt...laughter seemed to find him. That genuine sound was nothing short of rare in every sense. True laughter for either of them was a distinctly....unusual thing and yet that sound held every bit of truth within its tones. Thatnear baffled look upon Risque's face so hardly seemed to help ease that sudden amusement, the boyish, handsome grin hardly faltering even as that sound slowly faded. His Mistress demanded he explain himself. All these years and she could say she would die for him- but not that she loved him. That, tonight, seemed the most amusing of all. The irony of it was so hardly lost upon the exhausted cowboy as he lay back within those pillows beside her. His figure, it seemed, was too tired to hold him up any longer. Risque's own gaze remained narrowed upon him all the same, her glorious features forming a sharpened frown as she declared such things were not the same. He was her possession to keep or to kill as she saw fit. Such a thing was her right alone. Darcy, this time, simply inclined to nod.

"Yar right, darlin'."

The vampiric cowboy this time, it seemed, inclined to offer her agreement if only to appease her clear discord. Some battles, it seemed, he would not win tonight and yet.....that insistence he knew what she would not say, that the feeling they had both felt was surely some soul-bound promise not to die seemed only to darken her mood all the more. The vampiric queen so readily inclined to deny such ridiculous rhetoric as she insisted she would never come close to death- that none would ever stand in her path nor come close to her destruction.

"Day aint never stand a chance agianst ya."

His own figure winced once more even as that near knowing simper seemed to flicker for a hint of a second once more. Darcy was certain that Cade had come far closer tonight then either of them dared to truly consider. His own figure having taken the brunt of that effort and yet, here and now, the ravager so hardly sought to argue. He had made his point, that notion tucked neatly within himself. The man was near oddly...content in what he had declared tonight even if Risque seemed inclined to continue to deny it. Such a thing hardly....unexpected. His lover after all was nothing if not....predictable in her denial. The ravager content to yield to her own wants tonight as she declared he was high. Yes. He had to be high. Darcy's own features frowned for a moment in a clear consideration. Was....he high? How readily that thought seemed to take far more consideration then he deemed necessary. Any comment the man might have been inclined to make, however, was abruptly halted as Risque rose, the vampire Queen reaching down to pull those loose blankets up and over his head- obscuring his vision. It took several long moments for the cowboy to...contemplate his sudden new state of existence- the sound of Risques boots being strewn across the bedroom floor prompting him to tug those covers back down again.

"If yar gunna get changed yar could at least let me watch, eh?"
That, he suspected, was the limit of what he could. At least for tonight. When his very figure protested his every move. Risque's glorious, femanine figure was the perfect outline of bloodied glory. Her already healed form painted in the veritable blood of their enemies as she stripped back her clothing. The mere sight alone was enough to prompt the vampire to fixate upon her entirely. How utterly.....hot she looked. Even in that state of rage. She reached into the closet to pull out a shirt,one Darcy readily recognised as his own with that near classic cowboy print upon the front as she pulled it on and over her head. Its size ensured it fell to her thighs. How undeniably....arousing she looked. Darcy, in that moment, seeming to dance precariously between hunger and lust, his gaze fixated upon his lover as she reached for the nearest bottle upon her shelf. The sudden pull of that cork, however, seemed to refixate his attention all over again. Fae blood. Risque moved with graceful ease to return herself to bed beside him, slipping beneath those covers, her knees pulled upward as she drank straight from the bottle in a rare display. That sudden warning that she was not sharing- at least until he started making sense, so hardly seemed to register within his mind. His mismatched gaze fixated upon that bloodied prize as his tongue brushed across his lips once more. He was....starving, his veins veritably burning.

"Yar wearin' me shirt, reckon if im sharin' dat wit ya, den ya should share yar drink."

His head nodded to that black shirt she wore, that picture of a cowboy riding a bucking horse beneath the classic 'ride 'em cowboy' phrase was so undeniably not Risques own. That borrowing his shirt might equate to her sharing that drink however seemed...doubtful. A silence of sorts seemed to settle upon the pair then. Darcy so merely inclined to...stare at that drink. Watching her every sip, those lines of his control once more sorely tested. His injured state, perhaps, all that prevented him from near challenging her for that very bottle before, at last, she insisted she missed those days in which they had fucked in the blood of their enemies. That sudden, blunt declaration so momentarily seemed to fracture that reverie of hunger, Darcy's mismatched gaze meeting his mates own.

"Dat was always me favourite part of war."

Darcy's own features frowned, the vampire seeming to consider how likely he was of....performing such a task tonight. His every movement, however, seemed to prompt a near painful wince. Fucking in the style they usual did was so undeniably....off the table for this very evening. Even if he was certain he was still capable of that very thing.

"We can still make-out in da blood of our enemies I reckon, eh?"

Darcy's gaze lingered upon his lover, the vampire laying back within those comfortable pillows once more.

"Jus like when we was first together. I'll lay 'ere and yar can do as ya please to me while ya tell me 'ow I was doin' it wrong. Course, me 'ands ain't tied up like day used to be but we can pretend."

Those words were nothing short of teasing, a grin having found its way to his features once more. Darcy remembered well the early days of their relationship and Risques insistence he had been 'doing it wrong'. The woman had shown him, several times over, exactly how she desired to be pleasured. Darcy having spent the better part of those initial encounters in one restraint or another. His tendency to bite throughout those early intimate encounters was a trait Risque had deemed unacceptable. Along with his desire to be on top.

"Reckon i'm okay wit yar ravishin' me all ya like."

Of course he was.

"Reckon ya should let me take dat bottle though first eh? I can...keep it safe."

Now that...was entirely a lie. Darcy having every intention of stealing that blood, his intentions hardly hidden. The pair, somehow, having settled into a comfortable embrace with one another once more.

"Yar should wear me shirts more often- it looks 'ot. Im just sayin'. Reckon yar could pair it with dem boots yar got from da saddlery store when we was in Jakin-. And dat lingerie from new years eve bout tree years ago, ya know dat navy one wit da...strappy bits. I like dat navy one...."

We are rough men and used to rough ways.