She moved like a storm crafted in vampiric form. Her irritation was palpable ein her every gesture and sharpened movement and yet, for now at least, the vampiric cowboy was inclined to do just as he had suggested he would. Watch. Darcy's mismatched gaze eyed those boots she all but threw at the wall with vehemence, watching as she threw what remained of her outfit from her femanine figure before draping herself within one of his own t-shirts. She continued to move with outrage. Any mention of emotion, any struggle within her mind to accept it so often met with this exact fallout and yet- Darcy so hardly seemed perturbed. The Southern Cowboy, it seemed, had come to expect this emotional fallout, It was, after all, his lover's way. Risque, in all her glory, had always been....fickle. That idleness and explosive mood so hardly seemed to dissuade the vampire in any sense. Rather, it was his mate's selection of a bottle of fae bloodied wine that seemed to ensnare his attention almost sharply. Hunger clawed at his throat. It always did. The Ravagers curse, as it were, assured he was never fully sated no matter how much he fed. His species so forever seemed doomed to...hunger. Yet now, in the wake of that war, in his body's desperate state of injury that blood was like a siren song. He could smell it from here. How readily saliva pooled within his mouth in anticipation of that meal. A meal his lover seemed determined to deny him as she returned to their bed only to declare she was not sharing.

Darcy's tongue moved to brush over the tips of his shark-like fangs, feeling every pointed, edged weaponry as his mind seemed fixated upon that blood before him. A blood his mate continued to deny him as she drank almost greedily in turn. Her actions were so evidently designed to punish him-perhaps. To force him to watch as she fed. Risque, even now, demanding control from him when his very body clung to life by mere shreds. Perhaps such a thing was inclined to work in her favor tonight. That weakness to his figure prevented any effort to snatch that bottle from her very hands as he might otherwise have been inclined to do were he well. Yet- such a thing would have been distinctly...defiant. Darcy had become bolder, with each and every passing weak the southern cowboy seemed more and more inclined to press upon his previous limits. To test the very tethers of their matehood and yet,to snatch a meal from Risque's very hand was a boldness that surely he might even be inclined to reconsider. Mate or not she remained....dominant within their relationship. That vampiric sense or...order unchanged by relationship status. A combination of weakness and...respect perhaps all that prevented the cowboy from seeking to take that meal he desperately sought. His mismatched gaze instead merely inclined to watch with a clear hunger, his fingers tightening softly within those bed sheets, his jaw setting within a firm line. Maybe she would spill a drop....or two.....or ten.

Risque's words so suddenly seemed to draw the southern cowboy from his own considerations. A thankful distraction perhaps. The vampiric queen inclined to muse upon their usual -after-war' celebration. How readily that consideration seemed to prompt a simper to Darcy's features. That fucking after all, was so often his favourite. A release of the energy that remained coiled and tightened within their figures. That sex was often....glorious. Passionate. Bloodied. Frenzied. Wild. How readily his figure seemed inclined to respond to the mere thought! Those first sensations of want tugging at him as Risque mused her agreement. Victory, she said, was like an aphrodisiac.

"Da best damn one."

He agreed. His gaze, this time, inclined to rove over her figure. Even draped beneath his own too-big shirt he could see every line and curve of her femanine form, her every perfect feature and undeniably sexy body. Everything about his lover was....sexual. Her every movement, her every word. She oozed it like a siren. Her very presence, after all, from the very first day had....captivated him and oh-how certainly it still did now. Darcy, in that moment, assured theycould surely still....make out even if sex in its entirety was perhaps....more then his body was capable of tonight. Those stitches, after all, were still undeniably fresh. His body still protested any movement too swift as it clung with desperation to the pain medication Ezra had provided. Darcy, in that moment, inclined to forget that it was pain medication alone that had afforded him any feeling of 'wellness'. His mind fixated only on what it desired next and oh how certain he was he desired his lover here and now. Darcy's lips parted once more, the cowboy content to insist that it would be just like their first few times when he was certain all he had done was lay there while Risque had ravished him to her heart's desire. She had refused, after all, to be pleasured by inexperienced hands, to have her figure subject to anything less then what she desired and how she desired it. It had taken...several weeks for her to enforce that very thing, for him to learn what and how she desired things. She had cheated, perhaps, those first few times. He had been restrained on every occasion. Incapable of moving unless she permitted it and yet he could hardly deny her methods had been....effective. He had learned quickly. While becoming more...tolerant of restraint-and Risque told him of his every mistake.

That memory seemed to spark a near-smile from his lover. A soft huff of a laugh passing her lips saw that amusement tugged at his own. Darcy, tonight, willing to insist he was okay with being ravaged like those early days. The vampire was willing to admit that perhaps his figure was a little...less then it usually was. Risque was quick to insist that they were never merely 'okay'. Such mediocre sex so hardly in their skillset as Darcy's own lip quirked upward in response. Only for the vampire to insist that maybe he should...keep that bottle safe for a bit. Snatching it from her very hands might have been....to far, but attempting to convince her to give it to him willingly, it seemed, was still entirely within his repertoire. Even if it lacked a little of the...polish his words so often held when attempting to coerce Risque into seeing it his way. How readily she was onto that very notion, her gaze narrowing slightly. Darcy so making every effort to shift that conversation once more. The vampire insisted he liked her within his shirt. She should wear his shirts more often. Maybe with boots and that strappy navy blue lingerie she had worn on new years several years ago. He liked that strappy one particularly. Enough that he had hardly even ripped it from her figure as he was inclined to do. His lover's sudden assurance that she would wear it for him tomorrow, however, had so hardly been anticipated. Darcy, in that moment, inclined to feel surprise tug at his features as she insisted that after Eza had visited again and they had cleaned up that she would wear that navy piece he adored. After all- they had to pass the time.

How readily his focus seemed to fixate upon her near sharply once more at even the mere suggestion of her attention. Her desire to 'try something' so readily captivated him. Risque moved to place that bottle upon the table and yet, how little heed Darcy was inclined to pay it as she repositioned herself,her femanine figure sliding closer toward him only to position herself atop him, straddling his hips and yet-without placing any weight upon him. How instantly she had his attention in each and every way. She always did. Her every action so sharply ensnaring his every sense. Darcy attuned to her every subtle movement as her lips lowered to his own in a sudden stolen kiss. He could taste that blood upon her lips- along with that taste that was her alone. That mere touch prompting a soft groan from within his own throat. That sounds an intermingling of want and satisfaction all at once. Her demand to deepen that kiss was hardly one he intended to deny her, Darcy willingly parting his lips, drawing that kiss deeper into something passionate....intimate. His too-big shirt hung loosely from her figure and yet such a thing was so undeniably sexual n that moment. Darcy's hands lifted automatically to rest upon her waist, to draw her closer. Darcy so intended to slide his hands up her sides, to feel her curves, to cup her breasts...

And yet...

How readily that kiss seemed to stay his hands. Risque, somehow, deepening it all the more until that act held the entirety of his attention. That kiss was not like....any she had ever given him before. It's passion, its intimacy, its depth so overshadowed by its...emotion. As if the very kiss held within it every singular word she had so refused to say aloud or allowed her own mind to consider. It was more than hunger, more than desire. Every part of his figure in that moment was nothing short of attuned to that kiss as her hands traced his jaw, running down and over his own figure. God how he wanted her. Needed her. Desired her. Loved her. Risque moved to lean away from that kiss then as Darcy's tongue traced his lip almost contemplatively, stealing those final traces of the taste of her from them. That kiss very near leaving him...breathless as he blinked in surprise- only for her fingers to press softly and yet suddenly close to that place Ezra had stitched. Thatsudden, sharp intake of breath rose like a hiss within his throat,his very body jolting beneath her as her own gaze rose in a silent and yet decided 'see?' She was....proving a point. For severallong moments his mismatched gaze so merely met her own before that clear...yield seemed to exist within them. A soft sigh falling from his own lips and yet his grip upon her waist hardly lessened just yet.

"Risque? Reckon yar should be kissin' me like dat a 'hole lot more often."

His lips tugged softly upward, the faintest hint of a simper tugging at them once more before, slowly, he allowed his arms to fall back to his side as she slid from his figure and onto the bed beside him once more. That promise to ravage him properly another night met with another soft sigh. She was...right and yet it hardly meant he had to like it. Risque, however, seemed entirely ready for such a thing-the vampiric queen shifting to grasp that bottle before passing it back to him with the insistence he could 'protect it' now. How readily that seemed to brighten his mood once more, the southern vampire so hardly hesitating to take that offered bottle before bringing it to his lips. There was little more than a mouthful or two left and yet the cowboy so hardly hesitated to down that drink with fervor. That taste was...exceptional. A soft sound of satisfaction hummed within his throat before that bottle was placed on his own night stand, Darcy licking those final traces from his lips- only for a sudden sound from outside that door to draw both their attention. How readily that small mouthful of blood seemed to...sharpen his own senses, his gaze narrowing upon that closed bedroom door as Risque declared she would need to deal with them if they drew any closer. He could hear them behind that door- squabbling like rats. Fighting amongst themselves. It was,perhaps, the very nature of their species to seek to....remove what was weak. Darcy loath to consider himself within that very sentence and yet he could hardly deny its truth tonight. The male vampires of Syn were...amassing. Each one of them was determined to take his place in that dominant position. Now, after all, would be their only real chance. Nature so dictated Risque.....allow such a thing to happen. It was, after all, the way covens remind strong and yet....nature did not account for matehood. There were some things that...overruled those basic instincts. Risque, after all, was not the sort of being inclined to allow 'nature' to choose which man would rule beside her. Darcy, in that moment, almost content to....bask in his lovers....protective instincts. Even if he hardly drew attention to them.

"Reckon I could still take 'em......some of 'em."

Darcy mused, correcting himself if only slightly as that noise outside seemed to die down once more as another fight broke out further down the hall. The vampires, for now, seemingly content to fixate upon that lesser fight leaving only one or two behind that bedroom door. Yet- it was that very notion that seemed to draw his own attention then. His mismatched gaze inclined to stare at that door for several moments before glancing back to Risque.
"Ya smell dat, Darlin'? I tink dats Chase still out dare."

The DJ was young, rash and hot-headed. He followed directions poorly if not reluctantly at the best of times. His saving grace was merely that he did his job well when tasked to it and yet he was barely more than a boy. Hardly a true threat.

"Yar can come in, Chase. Yar got summthin' yar wanna say?"

How readily Darcy was certain of that look of bafflement sure to find his mates features and yet, for now at least, his mismatched gaze remained upon that door as the handle slowly turned. The reinforced door swung slowly open to reveal Chase, his fangs clearly displayed in an open threat as his head shook. He hardly seemed to notice Risque at that moment. Chase fixated like a man possessed on the very man he intended to kill here and now. He stepped forward and into that bedroom. "This shit's over for you, Darcy. I'm going to-" Those words so hardly managed to make it from of his lips. The almighty -crack- of a gun firing echoed within that space before Chase's body buckled, tumbling backwards and back out that door. A near perfect bullet hole erupting within the center of his forehead. A second shot fired a moment later, this one striking the bedroom door with enough force to slam it closed. That automatic lock sliding back into place as Darcy moved to blow the smoke from his finger.

"Finger guns, eh? Dumb ass....idjit....bastard. I aint....fuckin'....defencless."

Those very words were accompanied by a wince all the same, Darcy laying almost breathlessly back on that pillow once more. That use of his power having nearly dramatically drained what was left of his energy all the same. The vampire momentarily glanced down at his wounded side.

"Aw 'ell. I broke one of 'dem stitches."

A singular stitch had fallen loose from the wound, a small amount of blood beginning to drip free once more as his mismatched gaze lifted back to his mate.

"Reckon....maybe.....yar should....get...all da next ones."

A simper tugged at his features a final time. Darcy, this time, content to.....leave Risque to deal with any more of those vampires that failed to heed Chase's blown out brain as a warning. Chase would surely recover in a few nights and yet, if he was lucky-he might always wear the scar.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.