As though someone had touched a "replay" button, the dark hunter finds himself remembering when he'd had the displeasure of meeting the one that proclaimed himself to be the witch's owner. Owner. Just the sheer echo of that singular word within the man's mind had him snarling as he bit back the fury that threatened to break the tattered bars that kept the animal trapped within its worn and battered cage. He can remember the way that she'd walked in to see her sitting there on the undead's lap, his cold and pale hands wrapped around her arm so tightly that dark forest eyes did not miss the way that the witch flinches in his grasp. He can remember how his fists had tightened when that malicious grin slid onto Ivan's face, some wicked sense of intrigue flickering across those features Lazarus had very much wanted to break his knuckles on. The vampire's voice had been grating to the dark hunter, those fists beginning to curl as he warred not only against the strife between why he'd even gone to her place at all to begin with but also then fighting against the fierce protectiveness that had been provoked within the man as he sees the terror in those sapphire eyes almost always alive with fire. He remembers wanting to reach out and tear that bastard's arm off at the shoulder for every time that those cold fingers would pull on the stark white hair of the witch who was the last being Lazarus would have ever thought to see in such a helpless disposition. How absolutely and entirely furious the dark hunger had been when the man had been able to coerce him into giving up his name, like Ivan had been holding him at gunpoint with every intention of pulling the trigger should he continue to refuse him. It had been a disgusting feeling, caving in to the demands of the one being he found himself hating more than he had any other. And it had only deepened as the man handed the vampire the cash in his wallet just to have the witch released and out of his arms only to be pushed into Lazarus' own. She'd trembled there with her head pressed against his chest and hands curled into his jacket, every bit of the fire gone. He could have left her there alone, she'd even said that he could. And the Lazarus he'd been would have done just that... but he hadn't. He... couldn't. How he'd hate that he wouldn't just ditch her like he was so capable of doing when it came to leaving the other women he'd been around. Even Isabelle had been easy enough to walk away from. Vhal was like an addiction that he couldn't shake, something that he wanted to quit and couldn't. But, what truly bothered and frustrated him the most, was that he was started to find out he might not want to.

His initial surprise in Vitani apparently knowing Ivan doesn't last long as it is quickly overtaken by the same fierce protectiveness he hadn't felt since the night he'd met that bastard of a man. After all, the fae woman seemed so capable of getting those perfectly manicured fingers into some of the darkest places. He thinks back to the night when he'd sitting alone in Red On The Water, making yet another futile attempt to forget about the woman with stark white hair and those brilliant blue eyes. One would think that he would have learned it was pointless to try and drink her out of his mind, but it had always worked for him before. Perhaps it had simply been the man's nearly immovable stubbornness and defiance at daring to think he would need to try harder to keep her away from the forethought of his mind. She'd come to him in a white evening down that hugged her curves in all the right places, platinum blonde hair maybe only a few shades more golden then Vhal's own taking the empty stool beside him like feline coming to rest there beside him, one leg draped elegantly over the other. It had been one of those rare moments where Lazarus had only been there to drink instead of looking to pick up a one-night stand with lowered inhibition. Had it been any other night, when the agitation did not hold so fiercely onto the hunter as he worked on his fifth drink, working towards that haze that hadn't come soon enough, then perhaps he might have been just out of himself to consider her beautiful. But there was a vast difference between Vitani and the women that he'd preyed on before Vhal. She stuck out among the crowd in the east, nearly every many in the bar looking her up and down with lust bright in their eyes. And yet, her gaze had been cool and indifferent, a coy smile twisted onto blush lips."You certainly have a different taste in comparison to your uncle, Lazarus", she's purred to him, the very sound of his name on her lips having the man's gaze move to hers."And who the fuck are you?", he'd growled at her as she brought up the dark hunter who'd resurfaced only briefly in the dark hunter's life only to disappear again â€" and he was content to have it stay that way, like it had been since his father exiled James from The Daray Council for his... extremist tendencies.

He would like to forget the way Vitani had smirked at him in that moment."Vitani. Vitani Lovelace. And I think I might just have a job opportunity for you... If you might be interested?", she'd replied with that voice like milk and honey, so smooth and sweet like a siren song and yet they were lost on the dark hunter who would rather she just up and leave. He didn't say anything then, instead turning back to his drink which the fae woman had taken as some sort of invitation, James likely having warned her against the temper of the man."Perhaps you might find my liquors more potent and appealing for what it is you wish to forget?", Vitani and bribed, seeing easily the reason that Lazarus had been there that night. He'd hesitated, hardly wanting to give her the satisfaction of winning him over with alcohol, and yet it had only been that morning when Ellie insisted that Lazarus find something to occupy himself with. The next thing he knew, he was climbing into the back of a fancy limousine headed for the northern district of the city, more specifically Acosta Heights. It was easy enough for even a halfway intoxicated dark hunter to guess at just where the fae woman lived, everything about her lavish and extravagant. It was when they'd arrived at the mansion that Lazarus had seen him, sitting there so comfortably reclined in one of the leather seats in the enormous living area with a glass of wine in his hand, an ankle rested over his knee. A fae man that he had almost thought would be Vitani's husband or something, but the interactions between the two of them were not so fond or affectionate. Braxton. That had been the fae's name, but it was merely a mute blip in the back of the man's mind at the time. Sure enough, she'd been right about her liquor cabinet, and it was that night she'd offered him a job as security detail for the mansion "in case the crime rates found their way out of the west and into the northern part of the city". He'd shrugged and agreed to the price she offered for such services, figuring the extra cash would be nice, and it had been. However, had he known about Ivan, that night would have ended much differently than it did, and he sure as hell wouldn't be here right now. He would have told her to go find some weres to do the job she wanted, that he wasn't about to work for someone involved in shady shit. In all reality, he should have known already that anyone who affiliated with his uncle was likely to be bad company, James himself far from pleasant or anyone that Lazarus would ever care to know or even see again. Then again, he'd hardly been thinking clearly that night, and it was because of his nearly vicious attempt to forget back Vhal and the things she did to him that perhaps were partly to blame for tonight.

Vhal storms off, Vitani disappearing into the comforts of her mansion, and Lazarus knows that he should just stay right where he was, carrying out the rest of his shift until the next guy shows up and he could go do something... anything to quiet the animal pacing restlessly behind bars. He knows that he should let her walk away, but having somehow become his own enemy, the man sets out after her. He calls her name and she doesn't stop. That in and of itself should have been enough to have him turn back. But it doesn't. No, instead he reaches for her, his strong hand grasping her wrist only to have Vhal whirling around with that fire raging beneath brilliant blues, teeth bared as she growls at the dark hunter. His own beast hardly wavers beneath her outward aggression, its own figurative hackles raised as dark forest eyes fearlessly meet her own. She wretches her hand free, though Lazarus hardly tries to keep her there lest he risk her deciding to throw a punch his way with the rage that seems to set fire to every part of her. He can feel the heat radiating from her smaller frame, but again he shows no outward acknowledgment as he stands there with her. When she speaks, his eyes narrow upon her."Whatever he wishes? I doubt that. I'm sure he doesn't want you here with me", he says back in tenor tones to Vhal, knowing she would get what he was after. She thought for herself, no matter what sort of disgusting desire the undead had. His dark gaze darts down to her hands as they clench into fists, seeing the flickering of flames, only to shoot back up to her gaze and see the white-haired woman gritting her teeth in effort, the heat intensifying around them moments before she is moving into the shadows of the alleyway they'd been talking about only moments ago. He can feel her anger building faster by the second, her voice low as she tells him to leave. And yet, the man had never been great about taking orders from anyone."No", he says defiantly, tenor tones low. That is when he is hit with a wave of panic from the woman as that frayed control slips further. All he can think of his that night when she'd been in his arms, shaken and afraid. Without thinking, he closes the distance between them, this time giving her no choice as strong arms pull her tightly to him. Even he does not fully understand why it was that he embraces her. Why he believes this could work, could allow her to regain control, he doesn't know. Perhaps it was the recognition in him as she loses control over her anger, something Lazarus was entirely too familiar with or maybe it wasn't.

He doesn't care what happens next, doesn't care about the heat that licks at his skin far worse than if one were standing far too close to a fire. He holds her there and doesn't loosen his arms as they remain wrapped around her shoulders, prepared to feel the full force of her fire if she does lose her grasp on that lethal affinity, the same one that had left that burn on his chest.