Expectedly, the man lay there in the darkness, keen senses prodding against the exhaustion that was slowly beginning to settle over him as he lay there slouched over that table littered with weapons that he had only ever seen on cheesy television shows. Each and every creak of the old warehouse would grate against his ears as he would be so close to drifting off only to be dragged back into reality despite the sleep that also tugged at him. Thoughts would stir within his mind that seemed determined not to settle as it played through everything that had happened. What he does not expect to relive was the kiss. He goes back to the blaring music, the bass that seemed to shake the walls of the club as the witch pulled him into the thick of the dancing bodies, the scent of musk, sweat, overwhelming perfumes, and cigarette smoke assaulting his nose though it hardly bothered him much, Lazarus having become quite familiar with the clubbing scene. It was where he found most of those intoxicated women that were looking for a good lay, something that he was always more than happy to oblige any pretty face that might fall for his empty promises. It was all the better when he found a woman that didn't want anything more than he intended to offer, a one-night stand that they would both walk away from with satisfaction. He didn't often sleep with the same women again, but on the rare occasion he might just make a "friends with benefits" sort of fling out of a particularly sexy and driven vixen that managed to satisfy the ever-gluttonous beast that prowled in him. Isabelle had been the one exception to that unspoken rule of his, and as much as he fiercely wanted to loathe that woman for what she had done to him, the things that she'd made him feel, the way that she could touch him and light that cold and closed heart on fire... he couldn't bring himself to harbor ill feelings for how she'd left him there that night, never to be seen again.

For reasons that he didn't care for, he found his subconscious comparing that kiss he'd shared with the witch. When he'd thought that only Isabelle could have such an effect on him, here the one woman he hated most was, with that same ability to make him hunger for her in that single moment. He could feel his gut clench at the thought of how... delicious those lips had tasted against his own, how she'd dared to bite his lip only to take that kiss and deepen it. He'd nearly forgotten who it was that he had been kissing in that moment and had things been different, he could only imagine where things could have gone. And thank the gods that the dark man had caused such a stirring and allowed for Lazarus to quickly suffocate those ravenous thoughts that nearly had him wanting to steal more. He is quick to force away the imagery, the way that she'd nearly managed to make him want her in the absolute last way he would dare to think on. Fucking women... If his temper or his little sister were not his weakness, then women surely would be. Thankfully though, he usually had much more control over those male tendencies. What had happened between him and the witch had been a one-time thing.

He doesn't know when it was that he was finally able to shove his thoughts down beneath the surface, but eventually the darkness finds him and it is only when the weak light of morning breaking filtering through the dirty windows of the abandoned warehouse reach into the dining area and warm his back. He awakens almost with a start, dark forest eyes flying open as they dart around the room, his mind struggling for only a fleeting moment exactly where he was, only to remember when they find the wide variety of weapons scattered around him that he was in the witch's home. When his full consciousness finds him, only then does he realize the blanket that was draped over his shoulders. There is surprise flickering like dark flames in those narrowed eyes as he stands, dispensing the blanket onto the couch, refusing to let that small gesture of hers soften him and the distaste he was fiercely determined to keep over her. She was trouble, he knew it from their first undesired encounter at the burlesque, and he was far from ready to forget that night. Maybe she's still asleep and I can get outta here. He was ready to climb into his own bed and forget everything that happened last night. Well, not everything... He would remember that name that she'd given him, remember that promise that Elain was safe â€" though he wasn't entirely sure how certain he was that she meant what she'd said â€" but he was more than eager to forget that annoying pang of concern that seemed adamant last night to soften him. If he saw her again, it would be too soon...

He exists the room and begins his descent down the stairs, but the sounds of commotion below force a groan from the man as he is suddenly aware that disappearing like a ghost out of the warehouse was out of the question. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs though, he can't help the ever so fleeting intrigue that flickers across his gaze as he watches her punch and kick the dummies with all the deadly grace of a trained killer. That's what she was, much like Lazarus, and yet they couldn't be more different in just how they went about that life that they led. He lifts a single brow as he pauses at the bottom of the stairs, sitting on the last stair with arms crossed over his knees as he leaned forward and watched her. Sure, he could just get up and leave. A large part of the man wanted to do just that, he doubted that she would stop him, but for whatever reason he was aggravatingly curious about just what it was she was capable of. After all, what better way to learn the weaknesses of an enemy that he was determined to make her into than watch and see just what her movements might tell him? He refused to admit even to himself that she was clearly more honed in that lethal dance than himself, but still those dark forest eyes follow her while she moved with those crafted flames, even as he is inwardly working to convince himself he should just get up and leave, silently cursing that apparent inability to make himself get up and walk out. She throws a particularly powerful blow at one of those dummies then and he's surprised that it doesn't just melt with the intensity of those flames that engulfed her hands."Not bad", he comments coolly, though it had been intended to remain within his thoughts rather than finding those deep, tenor tones. Inwardly grimacing and almost hoping that she would just ignore him so that he could return to Hawthorne Village and make sure that Ellie was safe and sound as the witch had been so quick to assure him.