Never in a thousand lifetimes would the man ever admit that he found her absolutely maddening in the most arousing of ways. Even when she was trying to act like she didn't give a shit what it was that the dark hunter did, or rather who he did, Lazarus didn't believe her for one second as she seemed to do her best at making him think he was wrong to assume she was jealous. From the way she spoke, to the words that she picked, and right down to the way that she folded her arms across those supple breasts hiding from him beneath the skin-tight black suit he came to find very much satisfying to the animal in him only to take a stance that was so predictably hers with that delicious hip of hers popped to the side, everything told him she was very much jealous. He's seen jealous women a time or two, still unable to entirely forget about the woman with raven-black hair and ruby red lips that his own had tasted once upon a drunken night years ago. However, she made being jealous frustratingly sexy somehow, and just that was more than enough to have his want to tell her off and desire to take her in any remotely hidden place here and now all the more infuriating and complicated as that battled for control of the dark hunter. Isabelle and Vhalla were somewhat alike in this aspect, and yet as always, the witch seemed to one-up even the memory of his ex with just how much denial she tried to place between herself and the man. Isabelle had been just as shitty of a liar, always saying she was perfectly fine when that clearly meant that she hadn't been. And yet, no matter how much Lazarus had called her out on it, she refused to budge. This is the only common ground that these two had within the darkest crevices of his mind. Isabelle had manipulative in her little tantrums, though. That was not to say that he wasn't entirely aware of how the white-haired witch did her absolute best to try and "hit him where it would hurt most" with her words or baiting him into those first training sessions they'd had together. Vhal knew how to get him to do what she wanted even before he would come to fully realize it, and for that he hated her... only for things to always end up in a much more favorable outcome.

Isabelle had just been flat-out enraging when she tried to manipulate the dark hunter, and it had been only one small thing in the grand mess of things that were all reasoned why it was they never should have hooked up in the first place. He hated being manipulated more than anything else in this gods-foresaken world. Perhaps it was just the stubborn and blatantly rebellious nature of the man to do the opposite of what everyone expected him to say or do. He'd had plenty of chances to become a somebody that actually contributed to society. He could have trained harder, cared more... but he hadn't. Part of the man had been certain that even if he would have turned out to be a halfway decent and diligent piece of the family business instead of running off to vandalize public property or party with all the wrong people, still his father would have expected more from him. Nothing had ever been good enough for the man, and some might say that it was the incredibly high standards that Tal had held in entire and full expectancy for his one and only son which had been the undoing of Lazarus. And to some extent, it was probably true, but even the man who would be more than content to blame the man for the way that he was now simply couldn't. If Lazarus wanted to do something, he was going to. Period. Even when one might try and piece together why he was so miserable and so defiant against the ideals the world had for him, Lazarus would always do whatever it was that they didn't want for him to do. Why he was this way, he never bothered to stop and think on, but it didn't even matter anyway. He was a nobody, some ass on the sidewalk that made others move out of his way even as they gave him displeased looks. He could disappear into the shadows, perhaps even get jumped, stabbed, and thrown into a ditch and not a single soul - save for Ellie of course, who was likely the sole reason he was still alive - would miss him for even a moment, of this he was almost completely certain. And he was content with this, even though he refused to acknowledge this simply ad his one and only way of avoiding the feelings he tried so many times to suffocate out of himself. If no one cared, then he wouldn't have anything he needed to be concerned about losing.

All he can do is smirk as she growls at him, feeling the animal in his stirring restlessly just beneath the service, shaking those bars that kept it contained."If you're so spectacular at it, then why can I see right through it?", he challenges, feeling himself nearly starved for the reaction that she would give him. He wanted to test her limits, wanted to push her until she was moving towards him. Part of him refused to believe that he was doing it for more than evoking a sharp remark of fierce look that he finds himself drawn to like a moth to a flame. She speaks again, this time shrugging her shoulders in what was only another blatant lie, that perhaps he almost might have felt offended that she might dare to say such a thing. His wolfish smirk only deepens upon his chiseled featured, dark eyes glittering daringly. Oh, the things that she did to him! He reveled despised it, every single moment, each word that would fall over her plush lips he lusted for."Actually, I know that you do. Just like I know what you like", he replies easily, tenor tones smooth and low as he dares her to try and tell him that she hadn't enjoyed the times that they'd slept with one another. If there was one that the man was confident in, it was bedside affairs. Even now he can still remember the muffled moans of pleasure that shuddered from parted lips he devoured like a starved man. He can remember the way she'd begged for him. And where he might have quickly shoved away these thoughts, the memory of how she felt beneath him, how they'd craved one another all in the heat of a single moment that was nearly as unpredictable as the rise and fall of his stubborn will wanting nothing more than to hate her while there was an undeniable desire that he never quite seemed to quell which would threaten to consume every part of the dark hunter. It was a dance, a dangerous one, and one that he was losing... And yet, in this moment, there was no fight that burned brightly in his dark forest gaze having existed there only moments ago when she'd decided to surprise him with her sudden reappearance and attempts of slander. It was extinguished almost as quickly as it had been ignited, and Lazarus finds himself hardly caring about the surge of lust that has him acting in a way that he never has â€" even with Isabelle.

There was wicked satisfaction in the surprise that danced across the brilliant blue hues of the witch as he grasps at her wrist and pulls her to him so that there is no distance to breathe between them. His wolfish and lustful grin only widens when he feels her hand on his bicep as she steadies herself. And when she tips her head back so that their eyes are locked as they so often are, whether it be through death glares or fierce desires neither of them dared to speak of and yet could hardly refuse, she is stricken into speechlessness at his bold gesture. Good. She was where he wanted her, almost... He hardly asks for permission as he takes that kiss from her, and when she leans into him further he can feel the animal snarling to take what it knew very well it wanted, what he wanted. Where was the point in trying to fight this anymore? She awakens him in ways that. She returns that kiss and takes it one step further, nibbling at his lip and there is an animalistic rumble of fierce pleasure as she does, her own soft sound of approval all but having him tear the black material from her curves as he tastes her lips. Damn this woman. Gods, she made it impossible for him to remember why it was he hated her â€" in moments such as this, anyway â€" and yet he doesn't even try to remember at all. He forces himself away, and it takes more than he would ever care to admit, but now was neither the time or the place for such things. But by the gods, he would make the time. What is fucking wrong with me? A redundant and empty question he continues to ignore the answers to. Thick lashes flutter open and dark forest meets bright blue sky once more, her voice breathless, her anger just as far gone as his own, his hunger for her the only thing that he feels in this moment. He only gives a wolfish grin in wordless reply to her words. Her slender finger sets fire to the skin of his chest beneath his clothing. Her words like satin and silk have his every sense locked on her as she gives him a wicked grin, not even caring about the name of the undead that falls from her lips, dark eyes glinting."Yeah? Now who can't wait?", he says in tenor tones, teasing rather than arrogant taunting, and oh so very uncharacteristic for the man.

She grabs onto his hand, only to lean forward and press those soft lips against his skin and having him so very close to undone in that moment. And oh, how close they had been to stealing away. What there the odds that the rich fae woman would notice he was gone for a bit? It wasn't like he's had to do anything but stand there bored out of his mind. And with Vhal so consuming his every sense now, there was little chance that he would be keen on lingering idly here when he could think of the things he wanted here and now. She speaks once more, this time telling him to come and train in the morning with her. Before, he would have snarled at her words, demanding to know what made her think she could tell him what to do when he only did as he pleased. There is no demanding tone in her words, and it is then that he finds himself wanting to be there."Sounds good to me. What do I get if I show up a little early?", he agrees readily, tenor tones low and so very hungry as they take on the lust that fills him to the point that he can hardly stand there any longer. So caught up in those heated desires, he does not even hear the sound of the door opening, Vhal turning her attention and Lazarus' hardly wanting to. He knew who it was that would be there, even before the fae woman's voice like milk and honey reaches out to them, her light steps hardly ushering a sound as she descends down the stairs in a strapless white summer dress that rests just above the pavement and closes the distance between herself, the hunter, and the witch."I merely heard voices outside my home. That's all", she says innocently then as she comes to stand there beside the hunter."Lazarus, darling, I had no idea you affiliated with Ivan's pretty little whore", she says then, those sugary sweet words far from how they sounded. Almost immediately, Lazarus feels the animal bristling as soft hands touch upon his shoulder, blackened lashes fluttering over pale peridot eyes as she appraises the witch. It was in the way that the fae woman seems to look over Vhal as though she were lesser, perhaps even some sort of possible investment or livestock that has him moving closer to the witch possessively and away from Vitani's touch, though he cannot help the surprise that flickers only fleetingly across his dark gaze at the mention of that familiar name."Don't even fucking go there, Vitani", he growls lowly in warning, though the fae woman is hardly concerned as she arches a perfectly groomed brow. She is silent for a moment, and Lazarus can hardly stand the way that she looks between them."Hmm. Well, you simply must invite her to the party we'll be having here this weekend", she replies nonchalantly, entirely disregarding his snarled warning.

He knew that Vhal was the last one that needed protecting, and yet he can hardly help the fury that burns through his blood like fire, remembering the rage that so ran rampant through him that day when he'd first met the vampire. He says nothing more, not even realizing that he's placed himself partially between the two women with Vhal behind him. The very last thing either of them â€" especially Vhal â€" needed was for Vitani to decide that she might want to say something about what she'd seen tonight, the dark hunter unable to ignore the warning that whispers through the darkest corners of his mind. He can't forget the way the undead man had left her shaken, so... vulnerable, and he'd be damned if Vitani only made things worse.