Lazarus hardly knew how things between himself and the witch had ended up here. No matter how hard the man tried, he simply couldn't connect the dots from that absolutely infuriating first encounter that had once served as a bitter reminder to the him that he hated her and the way that she had essentially slipped into his life through his little sister only to wind up finding her way past those thick walls of anger and hate, bringing out the very things in him that he had sworn up and down were long since diminished to nothingness, snuffed out like a candle's flame. It had been a weak and flickering light to begin with anyway, the dark hunter having never been much for feeling anything like concern or caring for anyone aside from his little sister. He despised how they made him feel... weaker, like he wasn't even in control of himself or even his own thoughts. Even with Isabelle hadn't been able to make the dark hunter feel to the same degree that the white-haired woman had been able to do in the last moments that he'd essentially been forced into her with. Sure, he could have walked away from her in that dirty bathroom in the club after that first kiss that he intended on blaming entirely for how all this started. Lazarus should have let her bleed out on that nasty floor, closed the door and let someone else find her. He could have turned and walked out of the apartment that night, too. What's more, the man could have walked out of that same warehouse when he'd discovered the undead that had the witch on a leash, her master... the one that had instilled in those brilliant blues a fear that he hadn't seen before. He would always tell himself that he could have walked away from her those times, that he should have. They wouldn't even be here right now if he could have forced that anger and hate he'd felt towards her to be the only thing he saw when he looked at her... but even then, even when his senses were dulled by the fire of liquor, he couldn't.

Still, his mind looked for explanations as to why it was that he hadn't been able to leave here there for dead at the club or in the harsh grasp of that Ivan bastard. It wasn't like he owed the woman a damn thing. She'd only been a thorn in the dark hunter's metaphorical paw the entire duration of their relationship. No, it's not even a relationship. Label it something else. If it wasn't a relationship, what was it then? And that brought him right back around the same beyond frustrating place that he started, trying to find some sort of reasoning behind why he'd helped her that first night, why he'd gone to check up on her that afternoon when things went way too far, why he felt anything for the witch that he was stubbornly determined to see as nothing more than his little sister's best friend and nothing else. He'd told himself long ago that Ellie was the only one that he could ever care for, that love was not in his vocabulary. Those months that he and Isabelle had been together, never had those three words slipped over his tongue or filled his heart. Yes, he'd been protective of her... or perhaps the word might have been possessive. Lazarus was never the type. stop and examine those fine lines and just where he crossed from one thing into another - hell, that was probably why he's in the internal delimma he wars against now with the witch - but what he did know was that she had been his. And someone that was important enough to him for the man to place such a word was someone that he would kill for, the dark hunter hardly above violence and blood. What he hadn't expected was catching her with that jock. And that was when things got bad between them and she left him. He would always say that it was her fault and not his own, but what he wouldn't admit was that the majority of what had happened that night was his fault.

He pushes away all those thoughts, all those questions do that only led to dead ends with no answer to help him reason that his feelings were just some sort of reaction to something about her and it would all dissolve. He just needed to be patient. Once he drank enough whiskey, distracted himself with female companionship that, infuriatingly enough, was becoming less pleasurable for him since that damn night that again he has to force fiercely away, he'd be able to restore that anger and hate and everything would return to that same miserable place he'd been before Vhalla. Wait, did I just.... Fuck. He was almost relieve that he'd taken those appearing silently behind her only to clearly startle the witch into hurling that fireball at him. It instantly drove all those annoying thoughts and the feelings that were writhing in the depths of the man that he refused to give room to breathe and come alive even farther away, so much so that he could almost forget entirely about then as his mind switched to instinct and he evaded the searing flames. It doesn't take him long to collect himself again, hardly caring about the blood thay trickled down his arm beneath the jacket and soaked into the fabric. His reply only seems to have her scowling even more, and there is a prick of satisfaction in seeing her annoyed with him. He snaps back like he had expected and he just gives a gruff "heh" though he closes to say nothing else in response as she shifts the conversation to that which he was determined to just pretend never happened. She gives Lazarus a half smile then that has his dark forest eyes narrowing slightly as he dared her to say something more. Which, of course, she does, even going so far as to imply that he should be content that he had been able to "put her on her back". That combination of words act like a key to the box he was almost desperate to close and lock away, the memories of her beneath him, of how she felt as he took her in those throws of drunken passion, how she tasted. Never in his life had he had to fight to shove something away from the forethought of his mind, but he manages to rid himself of those sensations that seemed determined to make him forget that which he was hardly ready to. He says nothing as he returns his attention sharply back to his wounds, refusing to admit that looking at her didn't help a damn thing.

Surprised at her sudden concern he was not accustomed to receiving, his little sister the only one that ever seemed to care about him which he was entirely content with, the man hardly knows how to react beyond answering her question with a single word. For whatever reason, he frown grows as she closes the distance to him and he practically has to tell himself not to stiffen or try and keep that distance between them, hardly ready for her touch to awaken another onslaught of memories he didn't want to have. Before he can move away, she takes his arm in her hands and begins picking out the rest of the splinters and he simply stands there, contemplating on ripping his arm away from her and insisting that he didn't need her help and again, he finds that he can't. This was beginning to become damn near torturous for Lazarus. When she returned to his arm to him, he shifts almost awkwardly to stand square with her when she steps away. His words seem to bring that same delight he remembers seeing the day that she'd managed to push all the right buttons to make him spar with her that morning and when she speaks again, his gaze narrows but that last word falling from her tongue has him remembering the way that her nails had sunk into the flesh and muscle of his back as he... STOP THAT. Don't even go there, asshole. He forces the beginnings of that thought away before it goes anywhere, instead grunting in disagreement as that wolfish grin remains on his lips to hide what had almost happened within his mind."Bedside matters have nothing to do with getting punched for no reason", he remarks in stubborn defiance as that quiet laughter falls from her plush lips.

It was impossible to miss the fashion in which the white-haired woman rolled those brilliant blue eyes, clearly doubting his explanation as to why it was that the dark hunter was stalking the confines of Hyde Park. It was her second string of words accompanied by that roguish smile that has him glaring at her."Well, you're not a dark hunter, now are you. This is what I'm supposed to do. Track and hunt and shit", he growls at Vhal then as he defends his reason for bring here. Why did he even feel like he needed to? He didn't answer to her or anything, this time bring the one to roll his eyes as if to validate that he wasn't here in the clearing because he'd wanted to know why she was here, what has happened a few days ago back at the townhouse she'd let herself into. He decidedly looks through the trees as if maybe he could hear Ellie somewhere - and he wishes that he did so he could just leave - but again those teasing words have him shooting anther glare her way as she implies that he was stalking her. Stalking her."I was not stalking you. I don't stalk", he nearly snarls stubbornly in reply as she laughs yet again, refusing to admit to the witch that her scent had distracted him. He had half a mind to lunge at her, try and take her down and pull her into the snow just to shut her up, but he immediately dismisses the idea. That would just be asking for trouble... She continues to permit in getting him to help her and he's about to refuse her again when she actually asks him. That singular word launches him back to that night, practical hearing her ragged breaths as he thrust himself into her temple, remembering that wild pleasure that ripped through him entirely as he ravaged her, kiss her hungrily.... His own heart begins to thunder faster but when her scent, that scent along with the sudden interruption of her steady breathing hits his sharp senses and his muscled frame tenses involuntarily as he can hardly fight against the lust that burns in his blood and has the beast roaring hungrily as it paced anxiously along those brittle bars. It takes her moving several more paces away and turning her back to him for the man to find his control again and he quickly gets it under wraps again.

They're both silent on that moment, Lazarus warring against that infuriating yet seemingly unavoidable attraction that tried to pull him in further than he ready was, which was still something he refused to acknowledge. And it definitely didn't help that clearly Vhalla was struggling against the same desire that seemed adamant to drag the two of them together against every stubborn strand of denial that the dark hunter kept wrapping around those feelings he was bound and determined to kill somehow. Her voice carries through the cold winter air as she continues to keep her back to him, and he is given the opportunity once again and for the third time to just walk away from her, leave her to whatever training she was doing. He comes so close to breaking free, there being now words that express just how much he wanted to place as much distance as he could between them now. At this point, he didn't even care anymore what her problem had been a few days ago. He moved to take a step away, turning his back to her now as silence falls between them. Why was is suddenly so hard for him to move his feet and leave the way he'd come? He takes another step away, each one taking more determination and stubborn will that he cared to admit to himself when suddenly he hears the white-haired woman shriek, followed by a loud splash. Too slow. He turns himself so that he is looking over his shoulder and he does he can see the disturbance of the previously still pond. He turns fully now, walking towards the edge of the pond, minutes ticking by and for the most fleeting moment there's that infuriating concern fighting to the surface before he shoves it away as she breaks the surface, soaked and sputtering as she scrambles over to the edge and pulls herself out of the icy water, sitting on the snow-covered ground as she begins to shiver violently beneath the cold. Fuck. Here we go again... He almost groans when he walks over to her, dark forest eyes looking down at the witch as she looks back up to him. Her words would have been more than enough to the Lazarus a little while ago to just turn and leave, but even he knew exactly what sort of danger she was in, perhaps only moments away from hypothermia. He'd hoped that she would have called on her fire to warm her, but instead she is just sitting there, shaking. Great. Just great. Heaving a sigh, he removes his hands from his jacket pockets and unzips it, sliding the bloodied clothing from his broad shoulders and wrapping it around her as it almost engulfs her. He lowers his hand down to her then, dark forest eyes remaining on her face."Come on. You need to get out of those clothes or you're gonna freeze to death", he says all too neutrally as he waits for her to either take his hand so he can help her up or push it away to stand on her own. As long as she could do walk on her own, that's all he was really wanting at this point. Either way, he had a sneaking suspicion he'd be returning to her warehouse. Again.