Maybe the man should have been more concerned about the predicament she'd had no issues dragging him into. As always, the first thing that comes to mind is his little sister, concerned about what this could mean for the young woman who would surely not take well to being told that they had to pack up their house all over again and jump to the next city far from here. Far from the witch that now stood before him practically in a blood-soaked mess with brilliant blue eyes so void of any sort of emotion. Her agility, her endurance to finish off the large man despite the less than ideal amount of blood that had been lost between whenever the wound had happened and this very moment, that stare as she stalked over to him... it all should have proved more than enough to unnerve just about any being that might be her selected mark. Yet, there was no fear in his gaze, only the glimmer of astonishment as his mind worked rapidly to make sense of everything that had happened in almost the same amount of time that it took for any one individual to blink. This world of blood and gore was not unfamiliar to the young man now getting snatched from the ground and hauled down the alleyway through the west side of Sacrosanct. Looking at him, he didn't necessarily come off as a skilled killer and he wasn't, that chance for his skills to grow under the careful control and direction of his father and the council had long since been stolen from him, but as with the tradition of understanding what it was that The Darays stood for, there also came the right of passage after his painful change from mortal to immortal.

He remembered that dark night well. He could remember the way that the thick fog clung to him, his own sharpened hunter's knife clutched firmly in those strong, younger hands as he and his father walked through the forest just on the outskirts of an old, abandoned property hidden from the rest of the world. It had been identified as a place where were-creatures seemed to try and make settlement in for its cover and its distance from the rest of the population. His father had told him of the werewolf that hunted this forest along with its pack, that their numbers were growing to the point that it could become dangerous to the locals of the nearby farmers and the livestock that they raised. They'd been hired by one of the residence to "investigate" an unusual slaughter that had happened on his property, several of his cattle ripped apart like nothing the human had ever seen. This was to be the young man's first hunt beyond training. He remembered the adrenaline that raced through his veins, the eerie steadiness of each carefully drawn breath. He was after the alpha, in hopes that the pack would scatter and find a place higher in the mountains and further away from civilization. He'd stayed to the shadows, forced his heart to slow its beating as he steadied himself even further... He remembers that moment when those narrowed dark forest eyes settled upon the largest of the wolves that stalked out of the old, rickety building, drawn by the scent of blood to the kill that his father had set for them. With his father's words ringing through his mind, he prepared himself for the right moment... and when it came, he and the rest of the council descended upon them when the targets moved into place. One by one, they fell. Blood was slung into the air, splattering the trees and soaking the grass, and those that did not parish fled as the dark hunters befell them, each hunter knowing that it was up to the newbie to carry out the most crucial kill of all. He can remember the flash of white fangs, of feral eyes burning in fury... And then, there was nothing but eerie silence and the thick scent of blood covering the earth as he stood over the lifeless form of the alpha. He'd had that same look in his gaze as Vhalla did. Perhaps that was why he did not flinch when that gaze found him.

When they arrived at the warehouse she was clearly occupying, his attention drinks in what dark forest eyes find, and the more that they uncovered, the high those suspicions towards the witch would rise. Who was she? Why had she been pursued by that man who now lay dead in the alley? Better still, what was it that she wanted with his little sister? Lazarus was not about to let Ellie become some pawn in some ploy that the white-haired woman had, and that he was going to make sure she understood perfectly. If it took threats, if it took blows, Lazarus would see to it that his point was impossible to misinterpret although as he trailed after her, narrowed eyes now resting firmly over her as she tended to her wounds, he doubted that such force would be necessary â€" for now. In this state, she hardly seemed threatening, though after that little display back in the alley, he was smart enough not to test his luck unless absolutely and entirely necessary. She looks towards him now and he is not able to refrain from only part of what he truly wanted to demand from her in that very moment. Her answers did nothing for him though, falling distastefully short of what he wanted. Vague terms were the last thing he intended to walk away with after tonight. He goes to demand more than just "that was my job" and "these are mine" â€" who even needs so many damn weapons unless they're preparing to start something he certainly didn't want Elain getting involved in â€" but instead she turns away from him and commands him to fetch the linens on the hutch with human skulls perched atop it. Who does she think she is, telling me to 'hand her those' like some filthy dog? Despite the glare he gives her, for whatever reason he finds himself abiding to her request â€" why was entirely beyond him and if anything he hated that he was so willing to comply to the demands on the one woman he couldn't hate more if he tried â€" and when he grasps them in his hands he throws them to her and props himself against the side of the hutch, dark forest eyes shifting to the skulls again before narrowed eyes rest fiercely on her again."Were they your job, too?", he asks harshly with arms now crossed once more as he watched her wrap that wound like she'd only done it a thousand times or more along with the fact that she had a matching scar on her other luscious hip. Yeah, I'm definitely gonna need better answers than that.

Her next string of are tired and yet they only manage to frustrate the man further, and he can feel his jaw clenching as his eyes remain on her."Who the hell assigns targets to witches unless -", he goes on to say before his train of thought comes to a screeching halt."Who do you work for? Drug dealers? The mafia? I expect better answers from you, especially if you're going to be around my sister. Have you told her?", he continues to question, his interrogation far from over as he waits for the answers, remaining steadfast in his place. If she'd told Ellie, then why wouldn't his sister tell him?"The fact that you're a hitman or something is only a minor detail to mention when making friends, don't you think?", he asks her, sarcasm dripping from his words. Once she's patched up and she remarks about trafficking the weapons that were very likely illegal to the point that he didn't even want to think about getting caught her or else being considered some sort of accomplice to the witch who simply sits there nonchalantly as she begins to clean the weapons of the blood that tainted them before placing them almost tenderly on the table before she lifts herself from the chair she sat in though not without having to steady herself on the chair before making her way through the doorway, dark forest eyes again glancing to the bruises on she wore on pale skin. As she turns to guide him, the man once again trailing along after her like some pet which still caused his blood to burn in his veins, the flames are weakened by the suspicion when those sharp eyes find the hint of three scars peeking out from the top of her white tank top. She seriously needs to find a different line of work... She leads him into a luxurious bedroom, everything sitting perfectly in place as though it hadn't been used once. He observes the new area for a moment, noting the use of the bathroom and the closet though his attention snaps back to the witch as she tosses him a pair of sweatpants."Do I even want to know who's been in these?", he growls as he catches the article of clothing. She invites him to clean himself up in the bathroom though his attention hones more on her later mention of where she'd be sleeping instead. The couch? What was wrong with the bed?

Before the hunter can even think to throw that question her way, she disappears from the room. Shrugging, he makes his way to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door as he removes his bloodied clothes and slips into the sweatpants despite thinking he'd rather be in his own dirty clothes than these things. That sensitive hearing of his does not fail to catch the sound of someone, obviously the witch, retching in the hallway bathroom they'd passed, and only briefly does a tinge of concern prick at the hardened heart beating in his chiseled chest before he chases it away. She hadn't seemed drunk, but who knows... Who cares... He is only just departing the bedroom when he sees her emerge from the bathroom looking like nothing had happened â€" minus the makeshift bandage on her side â€" and watches her disappear into another room farther down the hallway. He stalks after her, still wholly dissatisfied with lackluster answers she'd provided him. He hated all this vague crap. When he appears in the doorway, he sees the white-haired woman lying there in a worn chair, his gaze leaving her for only a moment to survey the small library, half expecting to see more weaponry or something amidst the books. When those narrowed eyes of the shirtless man return to the witch, he is taken aback for a moment at the dead look that overwhelmed her as she sat there. This was a side of her that he hadn't seen at the burlesque or his townhouse, but he pushes away that inkling of what he could only imagine was some form of concern, arms yet again crossing over his chest as he leaned against the doorway, brushing barely against the silver chain that hangs around his neck, accented by a single large white fang, clearly expecting better answers to his interrogating questions, deciding to give her a chance to explain herself better before he told her to stay away from Elain. Why he was even giving her that chance was beyond him, but something in him felt almost... worried for her.