The dark hunter had never been good with feelings. If anything, he hated that he had them at all, considering all that he ever felt anymore was loathing and anger. He could not remember a moment in his recent past, even before the death of his parents, where there might have been a fragment in time he had been genuinely happy. Perhaps once, when he had been little and his little sister had been just learning to walk, there might have been a memory that eludes him, lost somewhere beneath the demons that haunted the man. Maybe he might have smiled once, when he was little and so new to the world, untouched by the atrocities that he'd come to accept as just another cruel trick by the world and whatever forces â€" divine or otherwise â€" were at work in the day to day comings and goings. He cannot even recall a time where his mother might have spoken of such an occurrence, of a young boy that might have clung to her dress when he'd been in the presence of family friends that were nothing more than strangers to him. She had never made remarks about how he'd once had the cutest of smiles that could make a proud mother's heart swoon, and he certainly never heard of such things from his father who had only ever been critical of his one and only heir to The Daray Family and the crucial business that they'd once ran from the estate hidden in rolling hills and dark forests. Regardless, so deeply buried are these what if's and maybe's that the man never bothered to contemplate them. Any that knew him would know that he was hardly one for sentiment, often doing whatever he could to avoid tender things if he could help it. Only Ellie was the one that had once gotten a glimpse of the compassion that he was â€" unknowingly â€" capable of expressing. After all, it was hard to consider anything else aside from doing absolute everything that he could to avoid his mind wandering to the stark white hair and brilliant blue eyes that smoldered with flames which threatened to swallow him so many times in a heat that the man found increasing, infuriatingly difficult to ignore. He hated those eyes. He hated how they found him in nearly everything that he tried to preoccupy himself with, how they would flicker across his thoughts when his dark gaze roamed with disinterest across the dancing bodies swarming with women he would have wasted no time in charming for the twilight hours.

He loathed how they made him feel when he'd gone this far in his life content in the misery that surrounds him, the honey-blonde huntress being the only light in his world that kept him from falling away, completely broken. Everything had been fine before the witch walked into his and his sister's townhouse, brought home by the ever-sweet and radiant young woman that could find even the smallest reasons to smile the brightest that she could so that the world might just be a little warmer, a little more forgiving. Lazarus remembers with near perfect clarify the twist of surprise and seething anger that had seen his figurative hackles raising to find the witch who'd put him in his back standing in his home, befriending his sister, only to join them for dinner. Of all the people that Ellie could have brought home, it had been Vhalla. He had wanted nothing more in that moment than for her to vanish, to just up and leave without a trace. Even to this day he could hardly understand why it was that the white-haired witch had taken a liking to the honey-blonde woman that the man guarded with his own life. They certainly weren't anything alike, not in the least. Ellie was gentle and warm, she was the embodiment of all things kind and accepting of others that struggled to find the light in this forsaken place. Ellie was a lantern in the dark for those that needed such a thing, and so in some way he could see how it was that she's managed to attract the attentions of the witch he so was wanted to despise as he once did. It was genuinely hard, if not impossible to dislike Ellie for the light in her heart, but it was in knowing that light drew shadows like moths to a flame and this is what has Lazarus dedicated the rest of his life keeping from the cruelties waiting for the smallest chance to do harm. And yet, Vhalla hardly came across as the type that wanted something that the honey-blonde huntress could give... so why did she have to stay? What's more, why did she have to stay long enough for his little sister to get attached knowing that there would be times that she couldn't assure the younger woman all was well and having her worry and fuss to the last person who cared didn't give a shit? Now, the man had to deal with his sister worrying, and he hated that almost as much as he hated the witch and her brilliant blue eyes, the intoxicating taste of her lips...

Wicked satisfaction is found in the way that steam seems to rise around the woman who took pleasure in deepening his agitation - and lust - enough to tempt the dark hunter to tell her to fuck off and let him do his job before the fae woman might appear from the comforts of her ridiculously large mansion. Gods he hoped that she doesn't. The last thing he wanted would be to deal with two women when this one by the gate was more than he cared for to begin with. He can see the fire in those blue eyes of hers as she nearly spits out a blatant lie the man has no trouble seeing straight through, though he keeps to himself the glimmer of surprise that flickers across his thoughts. Why was she jealous when she tries so hard to make him believe that she didn't care what he did? Women are so damn frustrating... Her words have his wolfish grin growing more wicked with pleasure as again she tries to convince him, and again she fails."I don't know, why are you jealous?", he returns shamelessly as his eyes caress the curves his hands knew all too well and there is that stirring in him as the animal rattles the weakened bars of his restraint and control of himself. It only grows more starved as it take devious delight in the way she narrows her eyes upon him, the word "sexy" quickly being shoved from his mind when she carries on to insist that she did not care who it was that he laid with. Perhaps he might have told her that there had been no one after she vanished, that it was her he cursed every moment of every day. She didn't need to know that she made him want her more than Isabelle had ever tempted the dark hunter."You're a terrible liar, you know that right?", he taunts further as he seeks to irritate her as as much as she did him. Perhaps she was good at lying to Ellie. Hell, maybe she was good at lying to the whole world. She was an assassin, after all. So, why was it that he could see right those those vicious words? He doesn't allow for himself to continue this thought as she tries to slander him in a way that they both knew was her worst lie so far tonight, though still it gets under his skin in a way that only her words seem capable of doing. He was easily made angry as it was, but there was a special seething he kept reserved for the witch in front of him. Snarled words only prick more at his annoyance for her assuming he was sleeping with Vitani. Why did it annoy him more than it should, though? Why should he even care at all what she thought he did? Hell, maybe he should have just let her think whatever she wanted if the situation... but he doesn't.

No, like she always seemed to do, she ignites in him the very things the man had been so certain he'd finally gotten control of again, destroying the wall he tried to build in order to keep her out. He scoffs again as she tries to create another stupid motive of why it was that he was here on the obviously wrong side of the city."Oh yeah, because I enjoy sharing with with the other guys she has working for her. You know me so well", he replies, growled tenor tones filled to the brims with sarcasm. Even though he was in no position to say that he hadn't didn't enjoy sleeping around, he certainly wasn't about to chase something that for one thing was far too out of his league, secondly not even close to what he used to lust for in women, and lastly was already besting him at his own game of having one-night stands. It is when they are standing close to one another - almost too close - that he can see the desire in those brilliant blues, and her scent hits against his mind like a catalyst, hands moving to pull the glasses from his face as forest eyes grow dark, the animal very much awake within those depths now as he grins selfishly, taking in every bit of her and the defiance she put up as her front. If anything, it was a challenge to him now but he says nothing in the matter as she spits another insult his way, his grin unwavering as he disregards a question they both knew the answer to as she folds her arms once more. Oh, how she was trying, and for that he had to give her some degree of respect which in and of itself was a rare thing. Her next words do not go unheard, and yet he refuses to the surprise that rises in his darkened gaze, from beneath that wolfish grin that deepens in every bit of masculine satisfaction as he finds himself plenty capable of finishing her sentence without her. She really thought he would have waited for her? Why? And better still, why had he? Gods how he hated these stirrings she brought out in him! And yet he can already feel the leash on his self-restraint fraying by the second. He thinks to place distance between himself and Vhalla, but before he can, she is baring her teeth at him as she dares to tell him to wipe the grin on his face.

That is when he can almost hear the figurative snapping sound of the hold he had on himself. She unfolds her arms and moves to plant her hand on his chest to push him, and with dark eyed flashing wickedly, his own hands snap up to grasp her by the wrist."Think you can make me?", he growls lowly, beastially to her in a way that was only ever done with her. Before his own "logical" self has a chance to stop him, snap him out of the unleashed hunger that seizes the man in this moment, he tugs her to him so that she is pressed against his hardened build. His right hand holds fast to her wrist, allowing for her own smaller hand to rest over the chiseled muscle of his chest while he snakes his arm around her waist, his wolfish grin shifting into a wicked smirk. There is no hiding the beast that finds his predatory gaze now, and he doesn't even care for the words she nearly hisses at him. It was his turn. He leans down and steals a kiss, his own heavy lust for her flaring fiercely like wildfire in his veins at the taste of her, the softness of her lips, the intoxicating sweetness of her scent. He tells himself this was just payback for that night at the club when he'd saved her life the first time, and maybe it was but that was only a stupidly small attempt at justifying there was nothing behind what he was bold enough to take.