but there's still rage inside107.77.97.46Posted On December 20, 2017 at 8:28 AM by Lazarus Wolfe

It couldn't be clearer that the vampire took immense pleasure in the way that he was able to twist the dark hunter in ways that nearly made the man want to just retch. Lazarus was not accustomed to the feelings that seemed determined to make themselves present no matter how fiercely he fiercely he fought, nor did he particularly care for the fact that they made him able to be manipulated. He loathed being manipulated. Especially when it was the dark hunter that had always been the one to pull on the strings of others while he himself remained unbound by anyone or anything - save for his little sister of course, but that was a large enough weakness that he refused to let the world know of. He could try and bury those unwanted feelings and unwelcome thoughts beneath bottles of whiskey and still they continued to exist. He could take Donovan to some bar and the men could look for unfortunate party goers to start pointless brawls with until they got thrown out and even when he was bloodied and bruised whether from winning or not, Lazarus was certain he wouldn't be able to numb himself back to that place he'd been before three nights ago. He wanted nothing more than to feel nothing but anger at the world, nothing but wicked pleasure and insatiable lust for temporary female companionship. As miserable and dark as his life had been before he'd somehow ended up here in a position he would happily kill to get away from and never find himself in ever again, it was how he had wanted things.

To feel, to care, was to invite weakness and vulnerability into one's world and as far as the man was concerned, he did not need more than he already had in the embodiment of Elain. If anything ever happened to the honey-blonde woman that he had promised his every single breath and drop of blood to protect from the demons that readily hunted the shadows and leapt at every opportunity to snuff out one more beacon of light and love, then his existence would mean absolutely nothing. If ever Elain was taken from him, her light never to shine on the world again, he would cease to exist. There was no question that should the young woman with a heart three sizes too large perish, Lazarus would suffer the same fate at his own hands. Living would be purposeless, empty, cold... He had known for a long time now that his little sister could easily be his end, and maybe even to some selfish degree that was why the dark hunter was so viciously protective and possessive of the gentle woman he was so tied to by blood and bond. So little gave the man a reason not to drink himself into oblivious, never to awaken to another sunrise, and yet Elain was the only one who could ever manage to make him feel any sort of weak warmth, like a single beam of sunlight that able to break through the swirling darkness of his rage and quell the beats that paced ever so restlessly behind those brittle bars. It was the only thing that kept the shadows, the monster from consuming Lazarus entirely and buried somewhere so far down that it could never be seen in those dark forest eyes, there was something not too unlike a sense of selfish desperation to hang onto what little she was able to make him feel.

He'd been surrounded successful in the past year to remain cold and distant from the rest of the world. Ever since Isabelle had walked out of his life, he had been content to watch the only other being he was once stupid enough to care about and become protective of, he'd been able do as he wanted without consequence lingering. Hard as it may be for anyone to look at the dark hunter and see a loyal man that would give his own life for those that he cared for, such a thing had once been as real as the rage that burned in his gaze. There'd once been a time where he'd given up a life of playing the casanova for the touch and taste of a single woman. When she left him, so did that side of him, withered away until it was as though it never existed at all, leaving only that possessiveness over his little sister to be the last sliver of goodness that the world could see in him. Then, they'd moved here to Sacrosanct. He had expected for life to remain as it was. No love, not a care in the world except for what he felt for Elain and even then he'd always been talented in hiding just how much he cared for his little sister from wandering and sharply observant eyes. He wanted them to think that she was nothing more than a responsibility he never wanted to have, because if the world didn't know that a living weakness did in fact exist in the man, then Elain would be safe and in turn he would be able to protect himself and his miserable, rageful existence.

Just like that, the white-haired woman came crashing into his life and everything changed. It was not a change that he had welcomed, if anything he'd made his distaste for her presence blindingly clear when he'd made his way home after she'd thoroughly managed to kick his ass, and again when he'd stumbled upon her in the townhouse. Still the odds that Elain had managed to encounter the very last being Lazarus would ever want to see a second time left Lazarus suspicious of the witch. Just what were the chances of that? Every day after that incident at the burlesque, the dark hunter just couldn't seem to get rid of her. The whole reason he'd even been on the west side of the city was to get away from the places that he'd run into her at with a confidence that enough distance was made so he might just enjoy a night like he wanted. Again she proved to him that there was no getting away from her as she crashed into him at the club. She could have grabbed any other man out of that line, but it had to be him that she'd chosen. Fate sure had a fucked up way for reminding Lazarus that there was no escaping what it had planned for him, but that didn't mean he had to be okay with it. Not in the least, especially since it seemed adamant to tangle him up with her. Dark forest green eyes narrow as he feels his teeth grind while the snake dared to kiss the skin of her neck, dead eyes glittering with delight that Lazarus very much wanted to rip from his skull. Those disgusting words fall from those lips as he pushes the witch to stand, tugging her back to him as he coils around her again, causing Lazarus to force back a snarl. Narrowed eyes glance only briefly at the woman to see her looking away, shame written all over her face as she stands there as nothing but a shell of her former self that managed to infuriate him like no other.

No sooner than Ivan states that the witch would give him the price for what he'd done to get her away from the vampire, pale hands push the woman forcefully into his chest and just like that night in that filthy bathroom at the club, his strong arms reflexively catches her and hold her steady. The vampire is quick to move towards the door then, his last words fueling that rage in the hunter one last time before his attention is turned to the witch in his arms, surprised that she lingers instead of instantly pushing away from him like he expected since she wasn't necessarily wounded like that night, he becomes suddenly aware of her smaller frame shivering and those hands on his chest as they ball into fists while they clutch onto his jacket. That rage is suddenly cooled by that concern he wanted so badly to push away from him as she stays there with her face buried into him. In that sudden moment, he is nearly compelled to take her into a gentle hug, an embrace he hardly ever even shared with Elain. He is quick to shove it away fiercely, though as he tries to remind himself exactly who to was he was holding, who it was that seemed to hold onto him like letting go would bring Ivan back and yet there wasn't even the faintest traces of the woman he was stubbornly determined to hate. She seemed so... vulnerable. And it was that sense of vulnerability, the scent of uncontrolled terror that only deepened that concern and fierce protectiveness he has to struggle so hard against. When she finds her voice, cracking beneath the havoc that clearly ripped into her, he is almost amused by her remark though it falls short of showing."Would you have rather I left you here with that?", he asks her then, that last word leaving him in a low growl though that hostility so often found in his voice is absent.

She stands there with her face still buried into him and he stays there, holding her, warring against those feelings that tried to rise above the rage and displeasure when she speaks again, the weight of her emotions threatening to break and if she cried then the hunter really wouldn't know what the hell to do. He wasn't good at anything to do with comforting, it was clear as his hands remain where they'd been on her arms, subconsciously avoid where the bruises were yet they do not brush reassuringly against her as surely anyone capable of being supportive and consoling would do."Ellie was worried about you. And I wasn't about to let her come here", he answers almost nonchalantly, still refusing to admit even to himself that he'd come here out of his own concern from the witch. Her voice ushers into his jacket again and this time he knows that they were not meant for him but for herself and so he stands in silence, battling to smother that unexpected urge to tell her she was safe now. She's capable of protecting herself. She doesn't need me. Shit, she's a goddamn trained killer. Why, then, did he even dare to consider for the smallest fragment of a second to say that? She speaks again and he should have been happy to leave, should have shrugged and walked out when she removed herself from him and begins backing away, but when her gaze finds the couch, he can still sense that fear mixing with disgust and he remains where he'd been. She'd given him the green light and any other time he would have been glad to take it, but that damn concern that remains... She brings her arms around herself then and when his name leaves her lips, those blue eyes finding forest green, that fire gone entirely from her, he knows.

Fuck. He couldn't just leave her. No matter how bad he wanted to. What if Ivan came back? Shifting beneath the inner struggle to go or stay though he already knew he'd be spending yet another night here in this place, he takes a hand and runs it through those messy caramel colored locks, the reflexive gesture pushing that hood back."I'm gonna run down to the liquor store around the corner. I'll be back in ten. Vodka, right?", he says in those firm tenor tones, making it clear that he wasn't going to be leaving her alone tonight. How he absolutely hated that sense of honor that he'd though had died when his parents did... He doesn't give her a chance to refuse him, turning his back to her and existing the apartment. He descends down the stairs, fanning out his senses to make sure that the vampire was definitely gone before he exists the warehouse and moves down the alleyway and onto the street, hands in his pockets as he ignores the purposeful demeanor of his strides. He needed a drink, or several if he was going to get through today. When he gets to the liquor store, he searches through the various shelves stocked with bottles and snags as many bottles as his arms could manage to carry up to the register and flashes his id at the cashier giving him a questioning look. It was a look he got often so he doesn't even offer a shrug or a single word to the cashier. Paying for the alcohol and grabbing the black bags, he exists the liquor store and makes his way back to the warehouse. Would she have locked him out? He was about to find out. When he arrives back at the warehouse, he shoves through the door that opens almost to his surprise and closes it behind him before walking back up those stairs and into the apartment again, setting the bags on the table littered with weapons, removing the assorted bottles of vodka, rum, bourbon, and whiskey to place them on there among the guns and bomb parts. Choosing that bottle of Red Stag, he doesn't even bother to try and find a glass as he unscrews the lid and takes a deep drink of the smooth red amber liquid before looking over to the white-haired woman."Pick your poison", he says smoothly, that wolfish grin finding his chiseled features to hide the turmoil churning beneath that cool appearance he kept.
image by Andrew robles


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