Seeing her sitting there, defenseless, it rocked something in him that he would deny time and time again even though it was becoming increasingly apparent that a part of him couldn't fight it despite his stubborn efforts not to care. It was almost an instinctive hate that rages through the man as his glare hardened upon the vampire, hood still drawn though he moves that hand of his and places those black aviators he'd been wearing into the pocket of that black jacket only hardly zipped up to reveal that fitted white t-shirt beneath. No, he wasn't by any means ripped or as well-muscled as other men, but he was definitely fit enough to push that frame of his to its limits should he need to. Dark forest eyes shift only for a fleeting moment to see a sense of pleading in those brilliant blue eyes widened like a deer in headlights. It nearly took him aback to so the woman that he cursed like no other in a state of utter helplessness, and it bothered him. Far more than it should. Had it been two strangers, two people who couldn't give less fucks about, he would have simply forced himself to look the other way and let nature run its course. Lazarus wasn't some vigilante, some knight in shining armor riding in on a fierce steed to save the damsel in distress. The witch was hardly such a woman, and even if she were, it was not Lazarus. He knew that crime was real, that it would always find its way to slither around some poor unfortunate soul. After all, he and his little sister were nothing more than statistics on that chart now. And yet, he wasn't able to turn his back and leave like he could only guess this prick wanted him to. Something in the way that he held the witch there told the dark hunter that if he turned and left now, things would happen to her and for some gods forsaken reason it caused that jaw of his to clench as that aggressive protectiveness and instantaneous hate for the one who was hurting her now and clearly had in the past threatened toblet the beast to break through its cage, snapping brittle bars.

Yes, Lazarus used women for his own male desires. Yes, he certainly had no quarrels with a beautiful woman catching his eye and replacing that hate and anger with wicked lust that only ever seemed to burn beneath the surface and out of sight until the moment that he was touched by those soft hands that were more than enough to send him roaring forward as he took what he wanted. Sex was an act of giving and taking, and it was perhaps the one and only time Lazarus was willing to oblige to the wants of another simply for the fact that he took his own pleasure in the way that they would moan out have name. He was a womanizer and a bed pleaser, but what he took for himself was something he was able to manipulate them into wanting as much as he did. It was still their choice in the end for they would invite the wolf into their home to ravage their bodies for a night only to disappear before dawn's first light. He hardly ever returned their calls or texts if they tried to take a one-night stand and turn it into something more, always making it clear before climbing between those sheets that this was nothing more than what it was and never would be. Almost every time, they were happy to agree - besides, what man or woman goes to a bar or a club to find a life partner? A foolish one. However, despite the fact that Lazarus was definitely not one of those guys that a woman would want to take home to meet her parents, no matter he manipulative he could be in getting a pretty face to allow for him to enjoy that body to the fullest, it was never forced. He was an asshole and a user, but he wasn't what Ivan was. He knew exactly what type of worthless trash that vampire was - even if that was only just barely scratching the surface of the extent of how cruel the pale man was. Sharp and narrowed eyes only harden further as he sees the white-haired woman wince when Ivan tightens his grip on her arm and pulls her closer to him in a possessive gesture that anyone could see. It only caused that rage to burn hotter in his veins as those fists tighten and it takes more self control that he knew he had to not step towards them and ignore those warning words his father had told him so long ago.

Words could not expressed just how fiercely he wanted to reach out and rip this man's windpipe from the throat, how badly he wanted to severe that skull from its place on his spine and crush it and set fire to the rest of his disgusting corpse. Lazarus wanted him dead for how he held the witch and that feeling only had him seething at himself for that wildly unwanted feeling she seemed to stir in him that he just couldn't seem to suffocate entirely and bury twenty feet under. A guttural growl rumbles in the dark hunter's throat as he does not miss that look of twisted amusement finding those pale lips and dead eyes and the vampire seems to hone in on that wrath visibly storming within Lazarus, not that the man with messy caramel colored locks was doing anything for the sort to try and hide what he wanted to do to Ivan. Those bland and malicious words slide like venom over those lips as the man seems to toy with those white locks of the woman perched on his lap and every syllable only tempts that dangerously weak chain on the hunter's will to snap completely in a fucked up mixture of defiance and defense, the threat in Ivan's suggestive sentence almost tangible in the air that filled the apartment. Those fists tighten so much so that the skin could almost tear as the snake seems to adjust his grip on the witch's hair, those cruel eyes not leaving fierce dark forest green eyes so fiercely narrower and equally as unwavering as the vampire muzzles into her neck and as he speaks in that sickening voice again, Lazarus feels his jaw clench even tighter as he forces himself to stay silent if only for that pleading look the white-haired woman had given him moments ago, biting back what he wanted to say knowing entirely well that she was both figuratively and literally too far in harm's way for him to be reckless.

Glittering eyes do not flinch beneath or waver as the vampire seems adamant on trying to unsettle Lazarus and that defiance in the hunter has him glaring just as relentlessly if not moreso. He was lucky that the witch was in his lap. If there was one thing Lazarus was good at doing, it was taking chances even with his own life on the line if he were pushed the that extreme his father had always warned him against. He finds that foot of his so very precariously perked on that edge that so threatened to pull him down, but he holds fast. He had to be there for his little sister. The white-haired woman was just a distraction that he very much didn't want or need in his own existence but it seemed that yet again fate had taken away his choice in the matter. Ivan is whispering into her ear now, suggesting that she'd been in much more shameful positions in the past and he nearly lifts a brow in question but he refuses to give the vampire anything other than that look of lethal intent and rage. Continuing to keep those dead eyes on Lazarus, Ivan addresses him once again with yet another threat hardly buried in those words of his and how badly the hunter wants to show this bastard that he wasn't about to be some helpless puppet like the woman in his lap that those wicked eyes now travel over. Dark forest green eyes notice the monster's grip on those white locks growing tense as he seems to fasten his hold before purring into her ear then. When the witch speaks for the first time since he'd arrived, Lazarus feels a subtle prick of surprise before it melts away like ice shards beneath the heat in his blood. He hadn't expected that. And he would like to blame that moment for what happens next... That laugh that falls from those undead lips is enough to make the dark hunter bristle but no sooner than he reminds the witch of what happened last time she didn't give him what it was he wanted from her, he's taking that fistful of hair and pulling her head back forcefully, a whimper leaving the woman and he suddenly hesitates.

Like water thrown into a fire, not hardly anywhere near enough to extinguish it but enough to halt its advances, Lazarus begrudgingly obliges."It's Lazarus", he snarls, nearly wanting to kick himself for letting the man use her to pry that name from his tightened lips pulled into a rageful scowl. How he hated being manipulated, especially by someone so disgusting. Again the lowly snake speaks in those slithering tones as he releases the witch's hair only to allow that free hand to trail along her arm. He dares to imply that Lazarus would willingly give him something in exchange for his demand to let her go and now he can't help but take a threatening step forward. He'd had enough of this douchebag telling him what he would or wouldn't do, restrained himself to the very point where he couldn't anymore, but that subtle movement of the woman's head and warning gaze is enough to sober him before those narrowed and nearly vicious eyes snap back to Ivan. Oh, so now he had a choice, huh? While the vampire implied that the hunter did in fact have the ability to make his own choice, in reality there really wasn't for Lazarus. If he left the witch with this creature... For reasons that he hated almost as much as he did the only one who seemed to hold the cards in cold, dead hands, that threatening glare remains as he clenched those fists."How much?", he growls menacingly, defiantly and yet it was clear that he knew that if he was going to get her away from the vampire, he would need to cooperate even when he'd much rather just try his chances at taking the bastard out. Now was not the time or place, the snake so obviously in his element as those metaphorical coils remain wrapped around what he thought belonged to him. One day, he'll be sorely disappointed if Lazarus had a say in that matter. One day... but today was not that day.