Luck was hardly what the man with messy caramel hued locks would call running into the white-haired woman that he so very much loathed the very existence of. It seemed like no matter where he went in this damn city, she was always lurking around in some shadow like the witch that she was. Only briefly had he dared to wonder of the woman and what it was that she did in her life, but such wondering was quickies flushed out of his thoughts as suspicion would rise in him and he would imagine that the witch and made his little sister into some pawn in whatever games she played for a living. The sooner he could figure out exactly what it was that she wanted with Elain, the sooner he would be able to at least hope to force some sense into the honey-blonde woman's head that what she thought was a genuinely friendship between herself and the single most infuriating woman on the face of this forsaken planet was nothing more than some illusion or twisted game where the witch was attempting to make pieced out of them. Of all the things in this world that enraged the man more than the white-haired woman, the idea of someone trying to manipulate him into whatever they so desired was what angered him most. He was no one's stupid puppet and neither was Elain, no matter how easily her trust was to earn. He had long since convinced the young woman that it was for the best that he trusted no one but her and Donovan, that at least one of them needed to be wary of the unknown faces around them. After all, they hadn't the slightest idea who had taken their family and ripped it apart beyond any point of familiarity. The law enforcement officers had simply assumed that it was just some robbery gone bad, never having found any hints or leads to who was responsible for the death of the siblings' parents. The killers were still out there somewhere, and if ever he found them then he would paint the streets crimson with their lifeless bodies. He'd always been told that revenge was hardly ever worth the price that it would cost him, but Lazarus refused to think that the satisfaction of knowing the ones who'd shattered his world were dead by his hand would not taste sweet in the least. No, it would take bring their parents back, but it would right a wrong that no one seemed to care about other than Lazarus and Elain.

Lazarus had half a mind to pull her off him, tell her to go and find someone else to muse whatever it was she was up to, but in the same moment he is so taken by the incredibly unlikely possibility that they would once again run into each there when all he wanted to do was be in the furthest and farthest place he could manage that kept her from finding him and deciding to ruin yet another one of nights that he doesn't resist. What did he had to do the get away from this witch!? The bigger question on his mind though, aside from why the hell she was dragging him through a club and onto the heart of the dance floor, was what exactly she was up to on the worst part of the city. Everyone knew that the west was full of shady characters, from alcoholics to drug dealers and everything in between, so finding her here on the west side of Sacrosanct certainly didn't help the climbing suspicion he held her in as dark forest eyes peirce her brilliant baby blues when she presses that annoyingly delicious womanly body against his own. He can feel the beast in him growling at his core as the wicked thoughts carried him to the last place they would ever go with the idea of the white-haired woman and yet it was that almost animalistic hunger that he found hard to satisfy that drifted there only briefly before he ripped it away from the darker recesses of his male mind. Not in a million lifetimes, he snarled at himself inwardly as she instructs him to hold the bleeding wound on her side while she slings her arms around his neck, grinding against him as they danced to the thundering bass that almost threatened to bring the building down to its likely old foundation. She gives him a mocking smile and his dark forest eyes narrow dangerously as he is about to threaten the witch to tell him exactly what sort of crap she'd drug him into, nothing about their current situation feeling remotely right in any sense of the word. The next thing he knows, she's apologizing and their lips meet. Any other night, with any other woman, he would have happily forgotten about whatever was going on around them and he would have indulged her very much forward gesture as it was the man that, nine times out of ten, initiated that first heated and lustful kiss to seal his place beside her until morning light. But tonight was not going to be that night, and she certainly wasn't going to be that woman.

Then why was it that he didn't pull away? Why was it that he found himself actually enjoying the taste of her lips on his? He is very much aware of her heavier breathing, the way that their lips meet again and again through those hushed breaths as the heat only continues to climb, and then something unexpected happens... He feels her bite his lips in that moment and it rattles the bars of that cage to the inner animal and he nearly has to suffocate himself to keep from moaning in lusty pleasure as their kiss deepens and what had just been lips suddenly becomes tongue and he feels that fierce heartbeat pounding more aggressively against his chiseled chest, instinctively pulling her closer to him as his free hand reflexively settles on he other hip. His suspicion roars again as he beats down that hunger when he sees the shape of a figure that didn't belong and that monster stirs in him with metaphorical teeth bares and hackles raised, that alpha dominance in him rising unbidden as the beast silently accepted the challenge against what was his and also was what he did not willingly want. So when that inky haze leaks across dark forest hues and the man is sent retreating, the black fading back to reveal his normal gaze, his full awareness finally makes him realize exactly what was happening and who it was with, pushing her away in that moment where he is finally back in control of himself. His demands hardly go satisfied as her voice raises just barely above the dance music but those dark forest as are quick to snap down the her side stained in liquid silver just as his hand was. Just as scratch my ass, he thinks to himself though before those words can escape, she is pushed through the crowd and away from him. Oh, hell no you don't. There was no way she was going to leave him here without better answers that 'just a scratch'. A scratch didn't soak someone's hand last he checked.

Nearly growling to himself, he stalks through the crowd, bumping shoulders with men and women alike as he follows her. Unbidden, those eyes roam her generous curves and that deliciously tight black suit that for some reason seemed absolutely fitting for the likes of her and for some stupid reason it coaxed a wolfish grin upon those handsome features as his gaze ravages her from behind, enjoying the way that her hips swayed and how those curves almost had him trying to forget who she was just some that he might be able to explore those curves. Almost. The heavy scent of her blood, the flashing images of her at the bar in the burlesque as she moves over to the shelves stocked with liquor has him remembering just how much he despised her. No amount of delicious curves would dissuade him from getting what he wanted from her now, and all that he wanted from her was answers here and now, not just some half-assed lie that he could see straight through. Only when he's stopped mere centimeters behind her, practically breathing down her neck had it been exposed from beneath that black hood, she doesn't turn to face him just yet as she's reaching for that bottle of vodka, her voice ringing in his ear."Aren't you clever? I expect a better answer than some shitty lie", he growls down to her. She sighs before beckoning for him to follow her and once again she has him trailing after her like some lost dog, and how he so very much hated the idea, jaws clenched to show his dictate from being guided around by the witch. She leads them to a bathroom, tossing him a sultry look that eases his narrowed gaze only slightly though now he is entirely too in control of his actions with the tenacious readiness to extract from her what she was hiding, because she was hiding something, and he needed to know is this woman had put Ellie in danger. He steps into the bathroom, nose wrinkling at the smell of urine and vomit the assaulted his keen senses but he forces himself past it as he turns to face the white-haired woman now, eyes once again narrowed as he watched her expectantly. Shrugging nonchalantly, sh speaks again with a wild grin in her voice as she slowly turns to face him, lowering her hood ton reveal crimson blood that didn't belong to her. He scoffs disbelievingly at her words, rolling those dark eyes."Oh yeah, hide and seek but with knives instead of glows ticks. I love that version so much better", he drawls sarcastically. Folding those arms across his chest with an expectant brow raised, he stands there behind her."You're gonna have to do better than that, witch", he demands in depending tenor tones as he waits for her to get her facts straight so she could tell him exactly what was going on.

She doesn't answer him as she turns to the mirror now, leaning forward with her hands pressed into the cracked porcelain of the dirty sink. Just being in here made him feel like he was gonna get some sort of STD, but he puts the less than sanitary conditions out of his mind. Nothing else mattered except getting down to the bottom of the night's events. It's almost as though she forgets that he is there as she turns her attention to the bleeding wound on her side, dumping the alcohol over it and moaning in obvious pain that almost makes Lazarus falter. She deserves it, he snarls at himself as he feels those words of his dead father reminding him of that delicate balance their race looked after. Once he got that answer he wanted, he could just leave here there to bleed out on the bathroom floor without so much as a single feeling of remorse. His problems would be resolve at that point. And then, she loses her grip on the sink and is stumbling backward and right into his chest. For whatever reason, his reflexes are triggered and he maintains his balance while strong hands steady her as she leans against him, and he surprises himself when he doesn't move away. Why didn't he just let her fall in a heap onto the ground? She had ruined yet another night for him, he owed it to her to return the favor. Yet.... he couldn't. For some disgusting reason, he knew he couldn't just leave her there to die. She demands what he was still doing here, panting heavily now and thick lashes flutter weakly over her brilliant blues... He bites back a groan."Taking you home. I'm pretty sure that the last thing club managers want is a dead witch in their bathroom", he answers her as he continues to support her there against his chest."I'll help you, but I swear, if you swing at me I will drop you", she says through his own clenched jaw as he unlocks the door and continues to take most of her weight as she staggers out of the bathroom with his arm around her waist as he ignored the wet sensation that soaks into his jeans. They exist through the emergency route and are out into the now empty alleyway where he pauses to give her a chance to come to. He really didn't want to pick her up and carry her there and something told him she didn't want that either.