Part of Lazarus was entirely aware that he needed to do something with that free time he tended to have far too much of. He hardly chose to... hunt for that female companionship during those hours of daylight, finding a solace of sorts in refusing himself that sound sleep most everyone so craved at the end of the day. For him, sleep was hardly ever so still and sound, so restful. More often than he cared to admit even to himself and certainly to no one else, he would be jolted back into reality when those nightmares found them. There was hardly a night spent in the realm of sleep that those demons from the dark hunter's past didn't rise to the front of his unconscious mind, forcing him to re-live every single moment of that last night he and his little sister had been part of a family. Yes, they had each other, but they were the last of the legacy left behind to carry The Daray lineage on their shoulders. They had no idea if they had any sort of distant family really, their mother having been an only child in her family and their father having but one brother who has been exiled and disowned from the Daray Council, so the man hardly considered James as family. If anything, he had yet to tell Ellie about how their estranged uncle has found them here, the dark hunter himself also seeming to "coincidently" settle within the confines of Sacrosanct as well. Ellie didn't need to know that he was here. The last thing Lazarus wanted was for her to tell him that James was still family and that they should accept him anyway, that he was the last family they had and the only surviving remnant of their father. As much as he would refuse the honey-blonde woman, she was undeniably right. The man simply refused to let James get his twisted hands and ideas on whatever it was the older man was here for.

"Maybe you should find a part-time job, Lazlo. It'll give you something to do other than sit around and drink all day every day"... He had scoffed at Ellie's suggestion a week ago, the young woman frustratingly perceptive when she started realizing that he wasn't entirely himself as of late thanks to Vhalla and those feelings he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the existence of that she seemed to bring out in the man. He'd told his little sister that such an idea was stupid, pointless even. And yet, he inwardly admitted to himself but a few days ago, when he lay there in that unfamiliar bed with his latest temporary escape, her bare body sleeping contentedly beneath those sheets unable to chase away the memory from that night, Lazarus felt himself becoming almost desperate at this point. Maybe he did need something to do that would distract him since all the whiskey and rum in his townhouse, all the one-night stands and female companionship he could steal seemed to be doing only less and less for him in regards to getting the white-haired woman out of his mind. It was infuriating, the way that the mere thought of her skin on his, the taste of her lips, her intoxicating scent that he would recognise anywhere would throw him right back into the night he'd taken her beneath him in that haze of drunkenness and wild lust he had once been fiercely determined not to ever in a thousand lifetimes allow for her womanly curves to instill in him. And what was even more infuriating was his weakening willpower to refuse the woman. She was like a drug to him. He found himself wanting her with a gluttonous and animalistic hunger unlike anything he believed a woman might be able to rouse in him. She was like Isabelle... but worse. Much worse. Why?

He watches her in this moment, and the morning light grows stronger. It was a complete different side to the witch than he'd ever seen before. Slender fingers brushed against those keys with such care, such... peacefulness. It was like she existed in every skillfully played note, from the brighter harmonies to the heavier notes that danced and intertwined with one a other to create something that even soothed the beast that so often paced across those brittle bars that held it beneath those dark forest eyes of the dark hunter. He watches as her body sways gently with the song that fills the room, an unusual feeling seeming to electrify the air. He never would have guessed that she could play - not like this. He had assumed that maybe she just liked the instrument, that it was just another piece of furniture that went unused. How wrong he'd been... But she tended to make Lazarus into a liar. Or a fool when she was beating the shit out of him. He can watch her no more, groggy tenor tones breaking the melody that surrounded them if only to chase away those thoughts and feelings he could feel attempting to rise in him. Near instantly and out of surprise, that perfect song is shattered by her own startled disposition at the sudden presence of his voice, that sudden disarray of notes as her hand slips causing the woman to cringe at the sound they so created, though amusement flickers across the dark hunter's gaze as she turns in her seat to face him. Brilliant blue eyes seems to take him in again, and just like that, the quelled beast is beginning to stir again with the adsence of the music that had nearly lulled it into a state of... peace.

She gives him a lazy smile and careless shrug of her shoulders before those smooth words of hers slip effortlessly over plush lips as she taunts him, something that was surely the reason behind that corrosion of hate that once existed so fiercely between them. He rolls his eyes then, that wolfish grin etching into his chiseled features as he idly scratches at the stubble on his chin."Yeah, yeah. If you must know, it's never my bed. I think you've been spending too much time around Ellie. You're starting to sound like her", he replies easily, almost entirely dismissive as she flicked him shit about the habits she knew he had. He could almost swear there was a note of jealousy in her voice or something, but he dismisses it. He didn't care. He wouldn't change what he did for anyone. Pushing that aside, He instead turns his interest towards the fact that she was wearing his shirt. Shifting into a sit, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward after making this observation, he can see that roguish smile on her lips that has the predatory gleam flickering through the man's unwavering gaze. He lifts a brow at her words as she explains her twisted sense of what Lazarus always called "woman logic", that wolfish grin lingering on his features as she dares to proclaim that as far as she was concerned, the shirt now belonged to her."Oh really?", he remarks in return, a clear indication that he hardly intended on letting her keep his shirt. She lifts herself up out of the bench at the piano and moves over to the kitchen, dark forest eyes drinking in that view she afforded him like a parched man, devouring every curve of those cheeks he felt his hands remembering, that lust only stirring the beast within him more.

And then, the witch pauses only briefly in her strides toward the immaculate counters to look over her shoulder to Lazarus, her every smoothly spoken word a clear challenge to the man as she gives him that wicked smile while brilliant blue-eyed narrow as if to add further emphasis on her words. A deep chuckle rumbles through Lazarus then as he watches her move deeper into the kitchen."Is that a challenge?", he growls lowly, no trace of animosity to be found in those tenor tones. She should know by now the dangerous game she was playing with his inability to refuse a challenge, the man remembering well how she'd dared him to try and retrieve his necklace adorning his neck even now. Needless to say, it had been the very catalyst into what happened afterwards... He feels that pull on his control, something he'd been so sure she would never be able to manage again unless he was under the influence and yet here he was, entirely sober and finding that he still lusted for her. What happened to how things used to be? How was it that she could bring out those drunken cravings in his sober state? All this taunting without the disdain once coating every single blow they used to deal the other, it was all just... gone. It was almost like they'd somehow moved into some sort of unorthodox friendship. Lazarus didn't make friends. He made enemies. Sure, he had a friend in the were-cheetha that occupied his couch, but that was different. Donovan was a man, almost a brother to the dark hunter. They bantered and bickered, even tussled if their testosterone was high enough for whatever reason. But, this... This was entirely different. He found himself beginning to teeter on the edge of breaking his one rule he'd set into place and made clear to every woman he slept with... all because of Vhalla.

Lazarus lingers there on the couch for a moment as he watches her rummage through her cupboards, dark forest eyes savoring the sight of her backside more than he wanted to or would admit. There is a sudden shift in her scent that brushes against those sensitive senses of his, telling the man all he needed to know about just what sort of ideas might be flickering through her mind, seeing the dark hunter pushing himself to a stand and stalking near silently over to her, eyes continuing to travel up and down those womanly curves that has his male tendencies practically roaring at him as she calls casually over her shoulder to him. What the hell am I even doing? Deep down, he knew exactly what he was doing... He hardly even registers the scent of coffee that begins to fill the room, that pacing beast far from interested in anything but what dark forest eyes drank in. Gods, it was like he couldn't fucking help himself around her. He couldn't stand it. When she turns around, he's nearly upon her as she taunts him again, that wolfish grin finding his features as she leans against the counter with hands behind her, amusement dancing through her words as his dark forest eyes roam openly over her as he only stops a mere breath away from her. He knew that he effected her in much the same way she did him. He can remember how her scent shifted the afternoon she'd invited herself into the townhouse just as easily as he could remember how it had shifted beside the pond yesterday."I don't believe you for a second", he answers in tenor tones, disregarding in that moment any admittance to how last night had been the first time in too long that he'd slept so well. Instead he reaches a hand out to curl strong fingers into the fabric of his shirt that covered her hips in his first attempt to retrieve it from her by force."I hope you've got something on under there, because I intend on taking this back now", he growls lowly to the white-haired woman in his own challenge, that alpha personality wasting little time in making his intentions clear despite the lust that begins to burn in the depths of his forest depths. He wanted her to try and deny him. He wanted her to give him a reason to chase after her, for while he was far from being a were, he was still a hunter. Dark forest eyes lock with her brilliant blues, watching her intently, as if that very look and wolfish grin said "you should know better than to challenge me", waiting to see just how the witch would react, if she would follow up on her dare she'd given him surely with the full knowing that he couldn't wouldn't back down.