Private matters were never really a topic of conversation when it came to those fleeting encounters that the dark hunter had with the world beyond his own miserable one. As far as Lazarus was ever concerned, it was never something that he needed to share with anyone. Hell, half the time, he never talked about the past with his little sister. It was something that really needed no words between the two siblings, both of them clearing coping in their own ways. Yes, they were siblings and there was no arguing that point, but unlike most siblings there was little between them that marked them as such. If anything, people would look at Elain and then when they saw Lazarus, they would find themselves hardly believing that the man and young woman shared the same lineage - if not considering such a blood bond between them impossible. Despite the fact that Elain was years younger than the dark hunter, it was clear even to him that the honey-blonde woman was coping with their past in a much better, much healthier way than he was. While Elain seemed to soothe the mourning that unquestionably filled those moments that would take her back to that night through means of caring endlessly for others and befriending any who might give her the chance, it was obvious that the habits he'd developed as a rebellious guy in high school had only magnified tenfold when their parents had been murdered in cold blood - or revenge, the man wasn't entirely sure quite yet, though he'd hardly hesitate to kill anyone that he might happen across if there was even the slightest possibility that they knew. All the alcohol, all the sex... It was nothing more than a temporary fix to quieting the demons that whispered into his ears, a means to try and satisfy the beast that prowled rageful lyrics behind the bars of his darkened heart as it slowly consumed every part of him only to fail time and time again.

Hence why, even in that drunken state when he and the witch had taken an... unexpected turn in their unorthodox, erm, "relationship", the dark hunter hadn't bothered to say anything about the man that was his only friend in this fucked up world that his little sister was far too good for. It would be of some surprise that the young woman wouldn't have spoken to Vhalla about Donovan, though perhaps she understood just as well as Lazarus that the existence of the were that lived in their townhouse alongside them wasn't truly something that really needed to be brought up randomly in the midst of whatever sort of conversations that she would indulge in with the white-haired woman. She was a smart woman, surely feeling that unless her best friend felt inclined to ask about the people that existed in her life outside of her possessive older brother, there was not really a reason valid enough to simply say "oh yeah, and there's this guy named Donovan that is somehow the only other person in Lazlo's life he hasn't chased off" over coffee or lunch. Ellie cared for Donovan just as much as she did her big brother, that heart of hers being much too big for her own good or so the man was adamant on believing. How any one heart could have so much love for so many, it was unfathomable to him, and yet it even seemed that the friendship she shared with the witch he was stubbornly determined to allow into his own life had grow to such great depths that the two were nearly joined at the hips. That is, whenever Vhalla was around or obliging Elain in trips out to dinner or whatever it was that women took pleasure in. He wasn't blind or dim-witted. He knew that she was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her, the dark hunter much rather preferring to drink away at the collection of fine whiskeys and rums that he kept well-stocked in that oak cabinet near the small table in the kitchen instead of chancing another run-in with the witch that had a very much infuriating habit of bumping into him when the very last thing he was looking for was her.

Male satisfaction flickers ever so briefly through those dark forest eyes as those keen eyes hardly miss the way that those brilliant blue eyes trail along the sinew of his muscled frame that, like just about any male regardless of species, took a great deal of arrogant pride in. Despite his terribly unhealthy if not dangerous and self-destructive diet for sex and whiskey, he found time to make sure that he kept his own frame in more than adequate shape. Women found it harder to deny a handsome man that took care for his body just as much as men could appreciate a woman's that cherished her appearance - even if they were still far more vain than most any male that Lazarus had come across. His attention is quickly snatched away from Donovan as he looks expectantly at the man, narrowed eyes meeting slightly narrowed blue depths as she informs the dark hunter that she'd seen herself in. Why am I hardly surprised? He regards for a moment now, lifting a single brow as he watches her ever so keenly."Last I checked, knocking was still a common courtesy these days", he remarks nonchalantly before turning his back to her as he walks across the tile flooring with bare feet, shrugging as she made the remark that she would just wait for his little sister, all the while being certainly aware of that feeling eyes trailing after him. A wolfish smirk finds his lips then as he continues to keep his back to her, hardly having to turn around and see that look of hunger that likely filled those brilliant blue eyes of hers. That immediate shift in her scent told him everything. If anything, it told him more than he wanted to know as he feels the beast rattling against those brittle bars as its hunger rushes forward in him, though in his surprisingly still sober state of mind, he was more than capable of shoving away those memories that tried to rise above the surface of that cool and indifferent expression he wore.

When he turns to face her, that wolfish grin long since faded from his chiseled features as he moves over to the table, sitting down and popping off that lid. Almost instantly, he can see that familiar thirst in her gaze as he takes that deep drink of the smooth liquor. It's only then, as he lowers the glass bottle to the table in front of him that he allows for that daring and wicked smirk to etch itself across his lips. The man lifts that bottle back up again, this time tilting the neck grasped between strong fingers towards the white-haired woman in an almost taunting gesture."Thirsty?", he growls lowly in tenor tones, that aggression still subdued beneath the surface. Gods, how rare it was that the man wasn't seething... And yet, it really was only a matter of time. The witch turns her back to him and suddenly that beast rushes forward as those male tendencies have those dark forest eyes moving slowing from those slender shoulders and along the curves of her smaller waist before they widen where the luscious hips begin before melting down into those toned legs hidden beneath those leather boots. Fuck, she's hot in that damn suit. On cue, he can feel that fury burn through him as he forces away that voice in the back of his mind thay has him remembering how soft her skin had been beneath his hands, how she'd screamed his name, given him the marks that trailed down the muscle of his back. That was a one time thing. Period. He listens as Vhalla asks the were why she hadn't seen him before and Donovan's reply has Lazarus looking past the witch to the man dressed in ink."How has the hunting been, by the way? Can't be that good if you're back by sunrise without even so much as a token. I'm almost a little disappointed in you", he drawls lazily to the were then as he gives the man a wicked grin. They were an odd pair, the two men. While they were fiercely loyal to each other, there was hardly ever a look or warmth or anything remotely suggestive that they actually had such a friendship that had somehow survived through the passing of the years. There was nothing kind or concerning between the men, both fully aware that neither hardly ever needed the other, and yet there was no doubt that if either happened to find themselves in a tighter situation than they could handle easily alone, the other would likely be there to turn the odds around. Lazarus lifts that bottle back up to his lips again as he takes another hit, sitting in silence as he looks between the witch and the were with faint amusement.