He is both reluctant and perhaps grateful all at once to release the delicate woman from his grasp, easily stepping away from her in the same moments as her hands find the hard plain of his chest, pushing him aside in clear disdain for the performance he has offered with a soft sigh upon her lips as he moves to easily fold his crossbow away in the wake of his choreographed destruction. This time however, her irritation, perhaps the first true look of genuine agitation he has managed to proffer from her earns the raven-haired witch something of knowing grin, a half smirk or sorts that merely traces upon the smooth lines of his features- arms folding effortlessly across his chest. It was she whom constantly refused to heed his warnings, who seemed so entirely determined to ignore what surely even her own instinct told her. After all, so many supernaturals seemed to be acutely aware of his presence, seemingly rational creatures often becoming hysterical in their efforts to get away from him, this leave of sense a tool he has so often employed to bring about their end in the way a wolf panics a flock of sheep and yet this one single sheep seemed to refuse to follow the others, the girl so fiercely determined to ignore her instinct and his own desire to continue to push against those delicate barriers he has erected around himself. It is...infuriating and yet perhaps alluring all at once, some part of himself loathing the girl with near as much vigour as he had come to....expect her. It had been years since anyone had actively sought his company and perhaps to a certain extent he has forgotten what it is to be....wanted, for any reason and by anyone. His family have long since passed on, he has given up the charade of attempting to achieve friendship even amongst his own kind, after all- they only die and yet some buried and forgotten part of himself had finally begun to...respond to the girl, even if perhaps not entirely in the way she desired, the man as seemingly determined to push her away as he was to pull her closer, such conflicting desires so well concealed behind those impassively cool, handsome features.

Her words earn her little more then that knowing smile, golden eyes briefly concealed by a stray lock of white gold hair as he simply observes her silently a moment, reacting only as she moves to turn away, one hand extend suddenly forward to capture her elbow, halting her a moment, though once more his fingers are quickly withdrawn, a scowl of sorts marring his features at the discovery of the fact he had willingly touched her perhaps far more then is necessary- it would be foolish to forget what she was, foolish to ever believe he could ever have anything from her other then these lingering....memories of someone who no longer is. If only she did not look so similar, if only....Evelyn hadn't broken the promise she had made and done the only thing he had ever forbade her from doing in all these years together...He simply brushes the thought away, agitated with himself almost as much as he is with the woman before him, although why he finds himself frustrated with her remains entirely to be seen- the man simply having accepted that he is surely forever doomed to feel annoyed with her if only because she represents....everything he simply cannot have. This, he is sure, is an excellent reason to blame her for his moods and the thoughts of her that linger within his mind.

"Goodnight, Sera."

It is simply all he chooses to say, letting the girl move away from him now, watching her attempt to reach that foul, feral wolf that only moments ago may very well have torn her apart had he not actually had the sense to move her and yet truly perhaps he shouldn't be surprised- Sera evidently held no regard for her own safety, her continued determination to spend time with him perhaps proof of that and yet, maybe, at last, he had finally proven entirely why she should simply leave him in peace- even if he is not entirely assured of the idea himself. It is simply better that way. The chandelier that launches abruptly in his direction draws little more then a sigh from his lips, a muttering string of curses spoken beneath his breath, eyes narrowed slightly before a simple flash of light merely leaves a vacant space where the Hunter had once stood- Azrael stepping neatly outside and into the darkness, hands tucking back into his pockets as he simply moved to trail after the WereHorse that had caused so much of this uproar, determined enough to find Frost's new liar. Maybe a hunt would at least take his mind away from the woman and how very soft and smooth her skin had been, some part of himself entirely content to imagine just what lay beneath that snugly fitted dress- even if he is entirely assured that is a question he may never get to answer. Let her be mad with him- it was easier this way.

"That was a fucking sexy dress."

Well. If there's no one there to hear it....why not admit it? Just to himself, just once, just o hear it, something akin to a chuckle at his own utter pathetic-ness rolling within his throat before he simply folds strides off and into the night.