Gods, he wanted this woman. More than he would ever admit to her, admit to himself. As the fabric slowly slips down her shoulders while his fingers are slow and almost careful to pull the zipper along its track, it is almost as though that disdain he had to work on keeping alive was beginning to slip away slowly as well. All that control that he would always take some degree of shallow if not arrogant pride in as he defied any that would dare to try and manipulate him into doing as they pleased, it was practically nonexistent with the white-haired witch. She knew how to get under his skin, how to press every single one of his damn buttons. And not in just all the wrong ways, which he would definitely rather have than pressing them in all the right other ways that she could with nothing more than a look, with a word, with a touch. It was infuriating and arousing all in the very same moment, the two having never fused together in such a way as they did with her. He could fight against it as much as he wanted, indulge in as much sex and alcohol as he could ever afford and still it wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough when it used to be more than adequate to take his mind off some one-night stand that he'd taken beneath him for the temporary pleasure that served as the one thing in his life he could find even the smallest fragment of pleasure in? Still he couldn't figure out how suddenly they'd gone from wanting to kill each other to... avoiding each other like the plague because neither of them were the type for confrontation, all because they'd gotten too drunk and let some attraction pull them together. He'd woken up one day simply wanting to pretend that she didn't exist, that she was just some fucked up illusion his mind decided to torture him with. It's not like he didn't already have enough demons to fight against as it without her crashing through those thick, cold walls he'd built around himself. And yet, somehow, he'd gone from loathing her to wanting her at the end of it all.

She tilts her head, exposing to him the soft skin of her neck, strands of stark white hair clinging to that smooth surface that tempted him in ways that pull on those desires he struggles against. He was so close... All it would take would be for him to lift that hand of his to brush that hair aside so that he could taste her. He could feel that fire in his core rising despite the cold, a primal hunger nearly driving him to plant those ravenous lips there to hear her moan in his ear, to shatter those bars so that the beast could devour her as it so lusted to. Her scent does nothing to help the man in that moment as he continues to pull that zipper further down until it finally hitches, dark forest eyes locked upon that exposed skin as his mind involuntarily reminds the dark hunter of how she'd begged for his skin against her own that night when he'd ravaged her. He can remember the way that her nails had claws at the muscle of his back, how it only made the beast roaring in him more as his predatory hunger only deepened for her, how she'd screamed his name as he pushed her over the edge and into the wild esctasy that came with that sexual satisfaction. His gaze darkens and perhaps, if he hadn't seen the scars, he might have dared to put his lips on her neck and take her right then, right there. When his dark forest gaze find those jagged marks, it was the figurative bucket of ice water flung onto him he had needed to reinstate Lazarus' self-control he'd yet again found himself so close to losing in that close proximity he shared with her. He can practically feel the tension in her as her delicious scent shifts and allows from his head to clear further when he takes a step back and tells himself that whatever had resulted in those scars was her business, not his.

He hardly expected a explanation to the old wounds that tarnished her skin, though he also hardly needed to think long on who might have possibly done it to her. The undead's name was a foul taste on his mind, and he felt that anger boiling in his skin as he imagined that disgustingly satisfied smirk on the Russian man's face, metaphorical hackles rising as it takes all that he has not to allow for the low and almost animalistic growl to roll in his throat with that possessiveness he so hated yet couldn't seem to not feel towards Vhalla. She was hardly even his in any sense of the word, no matter how much the restless monster behind the weak bars of the dark hunter lusted to make her his for another night. It was bad enough that one taste left him unable to forget, left him nearly starved for more. A second taste would only make the shit he was stubbornly adamant on tearing apart even stronger, have him practically addicted and hunting her down for more. He wasn't about to let that happen. No one, not even his ex, had ever been able to take away the man's sense of self-control and capability to do only as he so pleased, so he'd be damned if he found that sense of control failing at the hands of the one woman he'd told himself the very first night he stumbled across her at the burlesque he would never take and did. There was already no going back from that night, but he would make sure it was the last time.

Oh, he sure talked a good game on the inside as he refused those masculine urges, and he nearly had himself in his usual mindset of cool indifference lingering on the edge of agitation once again. However, when the soaked suit falls from her shoulders and those luscious hips into a sopping wet heap around her feet, he's quickly struggling to force away that fleeting rise in his desire. Fuck, he hated this stupid tug of war game between his weakening determination to hate her and the strengthening lust that should have only existed only one night as it did with the rest of the women he slept with. Even after sleeping with her, he was able to drink away the names and faces of the scarce women he'd stolen the sheets of. Not Vhalla, though. She sinks into the oversized bath, dark forest eyes enjoying every small movement far more than they should as she submerged herself, her womanly figure responding almost instantly to the warmth. She gives him a devilish grin then as she temptingly invites the dark hunter into the water with her and he goes rigid for a moment, that lust clawing at him once more before he reminds himself of just where things would lead if he did. Refusing to travel down that road again, he stubbornly refuses her - the first time in what felt like forever where she wasn't testing his damn willpower with challenges she damn well knew he couldn't walk away from - as he moves over to the shower as he offers her a low huff on wordless reply. She replies to him as the man has his back to her, slipping the drenched shirt over his muscled torso, the sensation of her eyes on him bringing that primal satisfaction in the form of a slight smirk that etched into his features for only a moment. At least he wasn't the only one with control issues. The last of his clothes fall onto the tile floor before he steps through the steamed glass, Vhalla's voice rising over the sound of running water and he can't help but be once again thrown into the memories of a night he couldn't seem to make himself forget. Yet, instead of simply ignoring her, he finds himself giving a gravelled chuckle as he runs fingers through his caramels locks, a smirk finds his chiseled features."So you've told me. Guess it must be true if you're saying it sober", he taunts in smooth tenor tones as he continues to let the warm water run over him to chase away the chill that had sunken into his own skin he hadn't been aware of until they'd reached the apartment.

Stepping out of the shower with his towel wrapped around his waist, he hardly misses the way brilliant blue eyes trail over him, the man giving a wicked and wolfish smirk."Enjoying the view?", he asks in those deep baritones, seeing perfectly well the lust that flickers through her, amusement brushing against his mind for but a second before he realizes the lack of typically animosity he once held for her. Since when did I start joking around with her?, he snarls inwardly to himself before he moves over to collect the clothes before asking that question he never even asked all have past lays. What the hell is wrong with me?! Even Vhalla wasn't sure how to feel as she clears her throat and sinks into the water of the bath before telling him to leave the suit, casually telling him the damn thing had bombs in it."Seriously? You say this now?", he growls in response tough there's hardly a familiar note of anger in his tenor tones, hardly even the slightest tinge of annoyance there at the thought of how one of those damn things could have gone off while he essentially acted as her crutch the entire way to the warehouse. It serves as a temporary relief from those more... concerned parts of him he simply couldn't seem to rid himself of, the man rolling his eyes as he sets the soaked suit carefully back on the ground, only to eye her when those more wary words of hers answer the question he never asked anyone. She narrows her eyes at him, her own hostility nowhere to be found there and all he can do is give a shrug of broad and bare shoulders before turning to walk out the door."Just figured I'd ask", he says over his shoulder nonchalantly despite his own disbelief that he had before disappearing for the bathroom and making his way towards the laundry room he'd spotted earlier. Once he locates the appliances, he tosses the soaked clothed and turns the dial, starting up the machine before moving into the living room.

Running fingers through his hair as he ushers a frustrated sigh, he walks across the apartment and settles on the couch, allowing for himself to lean into the back of the furniture as he tilts his head back to rest there while dark forest eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. This shit is getting old. Tiring even. It shouldn't be a constant battle to keep that anger and distance anchored between himself and the women he slept with. It never was a problem before the witch. So, why was it now? Why was it her? He tries to remember the last woman he'd gone home with for the night, his hunt through one of the clubs a few nights ago having been successful when he found that pretty little... wait, had she been blonde? No, maybe redhead? You can't even remember the last bitch's hair color, but you can remember everything from that night with Vhal? Really? He rubs his face, a groan slipping through his lips before those strong arms drape themselves along the back of the couch. Anyone would have thought Lazarus was enjoying himself with how relaxed his posture was, but he was hardly relaxed in any sense. Exhausted was a more fitting word. He hears movement from the bedroom now, guessing she'd finished soaking and a few moments later she appears in those thick and loosely fitted clothes. Clearly she was still struggling to warm herself, but she did almost succumb entirely to hypothermia. She tosses him the familiar sweat pants and he catches it with ease, standing there for a moment to watch her."Umm. Thanks", he replies before pulling off the towel, hardly caring about his exposed parts before slipping into that article of clothing and sinking back into the couch with his arms draped over the back of it again.

Another visible shudder rushes through the woman then, her gaze shifting to the blanket piled on the couch beside Lazarus and after muttering to herself, she moves over to the couch and wraps herself into it before sitting on the couch beside him. Why couldn't she sit on the opposite side? Why did she need to be so damn close? She pulls her knees towards her in a fetal position as she brings the blanket tightly around her, becoming practically buried in the blanket and out of nowhere there is a flicker of amusement that finds the dark hunter as he looks at her completely swallowed by it save for her face and strands of still damp stark white hair that fell from the folds of the blanket. She looked almost cute huddled up like that. Forcibly pushing that absolutely ridiculous thought from his mind, he returns to that seemingly relaxed disposition as he sits there without shifting away from Vhalla. Her words have the man chuckling then as he rests his head on the back of the couch now, dark forest eyes closing in an attempt to imagine himself back in his own townhouse instead of here, with her, alone once again. At least there wasn't any alcohol burning through either of them."I could have told you that one easy, though I'm sure you wouldn't have listened to me anyway", he grumbles lowly as he continues to lounge there, trying his best to ignore just how close she was sitting, doing what he could to try and ignore the ever so subtle vibrations he could feel through the material of the couch as she begins to shiver again. She just needed a few more minutes and she'd find her magic again and everything would be just fine...