The following night, Ranelle returned to the Winslow floor of the underground coven, hardly able to keep her eyes open. She scanned her badge and continued to her apartment. She pulled out the key ring again from her pocket and unlocked her door. She stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her and flipping the lock. Not that it mattered, no one would come searching for her.

Nathaniel had taken her account of the previous night with a concerned expression. At the end of her story, he had simply nodded and agreed that no one needed to know of Logan and Avalon's presence just yet. The coven could continue to believe the Dark Child was in Italy under the protection of the Vanguard for another night. At least until he could come up with a plan to break the news of Hadrian's death. And despite their centuries of friendship, he had still scolded her for her decisions.

"I don't know how well I can protect you, but I will do everything I can. When Thorne hears of this, there will be hell to pay... You should have known it would be ugly once you brought the Blood Warrior into our home."

"I know," she had agreed softly. "But I had to do what was best for the boy."

Ranelle sighed as she stood there, leaning against her door, recounting the conversation. She inhaled a shaky breath and then glanced to the left when movement caught her eye.

Logan looked up from a notepad he had borrowed off her desk. He had shed his jacket, shoes, and socks, but was otherwise still dressed. He had considered leaving his boots on, in case he and Avalon would need to make a run for it at any given time. Yet, the coven had remained quiet during the day and he had only heard two sets of footfalls just after the sun had risen. He smiled at her, but it slowed when he saw her blank expression. He glanced over to the couch where Avalon still slept. His green eyes travelled back to Ranelle. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

The woman moved to the other side of the room and found her favorite armchair. She sighed again, blowing the air out of her cheeks as she undid the zipper of her boot. It dropped to the ground with a soft thud against the thick carpet. The second one joined it a short moment later. Ranelle leaned back into the chair, her blue eyes closing.

"I'm not doing you another favor, ever," she said quietly, her British accent apparent with the declaration.

Logan frowned, watching her as he tried to take in her mental state. The exhaustion on her was obvious, yet there was more to her he hadn't noticed the night before. It was a level of exhaustion he had seen on only one type of woman, a mother with worries. But that was all he could see. He had been able to read her, plain as the stars, before. She had hardened over the centuries, unable to be deciphered as easily as she had been before. Maybe she wasn't the same person he knew her to be after all.

"I'm sorry for what I've put you through," he said slowly, still watching her face for any micro-expressions. His gaze lowered to her throat, seeing the evidence of Hadrian's violence had remained from the night before in bruises that were shaped like a hand. She hadn't healed. "But, thank you, for giving my son back to me."

"I didn't do it for you," she responded, her eyes opening to look at him. Her face steeled when she stared at him and she bit down on her back teeth. She turned her head to look towards the daybed sofa where Avalon slept, his tiny body curled into a ball around his baby blanket.

Then, Logan saw it again: the motherly softness in her she had once possessed that made her gentle and sweet, loving and sincere.

"I did it for him," she went on. "I know that I'm not strong enough to protect him forever. And I wasn't about to let him grow up in a world where Hadrian's word was law. He needs a real father."

Logan sighed, looking away from her to his son. "How long—?"

"Since the night he was taken," she answered, knowing what he was going to ask. "One of Hadrian's Shadows put him in my arms in a hotel in Sydney, and I never let go of him... We were sent to Italy for the first two years, just so we knew he would be protected by the Capitol Vanguard. And then Hadrian ordered me home. He's been here ever since," she said softly. "I've done everything I can for him, but I knew I wouldn't be able to protect him if the time ever came. I think... I think Hadrian was considering taking him away from me. He despised my attachment. But, love is something that is much stronger than any blood tie. I would choose that little boy over anyone and everything. I could no longer be controlled when it came to him."

She took in a short breath, her eyes finding the ground. "And Hadrian knew that."

Logan inhaled slowly again, listening to her. He didn't say anything, letting her speak. It had been a long time since he knew her closely; and after seeing the bond his son had with her, he couldn't assume that he would know all the facts. Avalon trusted her, loved her, and regarded her as a guardian and parent. That much he could tell. Listening to her reciprocate those same feelings told him there was more to her story than simply being one of the thieves in the night who had stolen his only child.

Ranelle looked away from the sleeping toddler to take him in again. Her exhaustion tugged at her, threatening dormancy after spending the day awake. She could feel it in her body and she was certain he could see it. His analytical expression was a mix of sympathy and measured skepticism. She clenched her back teeth again and breathed in, letting him study her. He needed to see all she had sacrificed.

"I knew I was risking my life to let you be reunited with him. I knew Hadrian would lose his temper. And if I were a worse person, I wouldn't have even told you he was here... But that little boy easily trounces my own need for justice of the past. I'm not a fledge of Dracula and I'm not a warrior. He needs someone a lot stronger than me," she finished. She sighed again. "I was worried if you lost your head with Hadrian last night and he retaliated by punishing me, then there would be no one left in this world who would protect him like I would. I couldn't run that risk."

She got up from the chair in one stiff motion, doing her best not to wince in the process. She walked over to her sitting table-and-chair set to find the blood decanters still empty. The usual housing staff hadn't come through with fresh supplies. With a sigh, she reached into the set of cabinets on the kitty-cornered wall. She opened the door of one, pulling a blood bag out from the disguised cooler within. She ripped it open with her teeth and began to pour its contents into a glass.

"Have you fed?" Ranelle asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"No, but you need it more," he answered her.

The auburn-brunette nodded, unsure if he was being kind or if he could see her weakness. Without blood and a full day of sleep, she felt fragile. Her bones and throat hurt from the trauma they had endured from the previous night. She hadn't fed the night before while out on patrol, leaving her body running on minimal sustenance. She poured a good amount of the bag into a cup and then placed it back in the cooler. She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed down several gulps before she turned back around to face him.

"If I could have told you before last night that he was here, and that he was safe, I would have," Ranelle added before taking a sip. "But I was afraid you would come to London with guns blazing and there would be bloodshed, maybe even his... I knew you wouldn't listen to me if I tried to explain it to you in civil terms before he was born. I honestly didn't even know where to find you until it was too late."

She sat the glass down to remove her jacket and put it on the back of the dining chair. Her shirt beneath was wrinkled from wear and the dark material complemented her porcelain skin. She tugged at its hem so it was a little less bunched before picking up her drink for another sip.

"You didn't think I'd listen?" he asked, goading her to continue.

Ranelle rolled her eyes over the rim of the cup before sitting it down again. She walked away to step into another portion of her apartment, the dim light flicking on. She pushed the door half-shut behind her. "Have you ever?" she asked sarcastically. She returned a moment later in a thick sweater the color of red wine, its neckline high enough to hide the bruises on her throat. Her tight cigarette pants had been replaced with jeans.

The man turned away before she could catch him giving her a full-body look. She was still the same physically, after all of their centuries apart. "I always thought you could speak freely with me, when you weren't playing a game."

"I don't play games, Logan. Unless you're referring to the cat-and-mouse routine we once had perfected," she said, her tone flat again. "If you're talking about the marketplace in eighteen-ninety, that was for your own safety. I was always being watched and Hadrian still loathed you, and your sire. Be happy that it was Nathaniel who tracked us down and not one of Hadrian's lackeys."

She paused from about to say more when Avalon stirred in his sleep and then rolled over, putting his back to them. She sighed and motioned him to follow her. She pushed open the door she had entered a few moments earlier, revealing a true bedroom as the lamps flipped on. The dark red comforter and charcoal grey sheets were perfectly placed. Another set of armchairs and a small loveseat made up the other side of the room, half-hiding the door to the bathroom and walk-in closet.

Logan closed the door for the most part, leaving it slightly ajar in case Avalon woke. "And the night Hadrian ordered you to kill me?"

She moved to sit down in one of the armchairs but stopped when he made his comment. The woman turned back around to face him. "I didn't kill you because I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to even try. If I had, we wouldn't be talking about it now—"

"You honestly think you could have killed me?" he chuckled, making her grimace.

"No, I don't. I knew I couldn't then, and I probably couldn't now unless I was protecting that little boy in there," she snapped softly so as not to wake Avalon. "The truth is that part of me loved you then and I couldn't follow orders. Just like now, when Hadrian demanded that child be made into something he doesn't have to be. I chose him over my maker. I chose you before, too, but that turned out to be a mistake."

He frowned, his candor leaving him as he realized how truthful she was. There were unshed tears in her eyes, making the blue color shimmer in the low lamplight. Her jaw was clenched and her mouth was set in the same expression she had the night she'd said goodbye in the marketplace, and the night she had been willing to die for him while she was still human.

"I wanted to find you before he was born, before any of Hadrian's or Thorne's people had the chance to get to him first. I used every contact I had to look for you in the Seventies, but everyone came up empty-handed. I even put out word I was looking to speak with the Count. His informant shot down my request and told me to—well, in today's language—'get lost.'" Her head shook and she took another long drink of blood to help steady her nerves. "And then I was too late. You were already preparing for his birth and moved into the chateau in New Zealand. I honestly didn't think you would hear me out if I told you what your child would be."

"The Dark Child?" he asked, frowning again. "That prophecy is a myth."

Her head shook. "It isn't a myth. It's real. I have been watching for decades as the covens fought to find the information first. You know what the Moon Worshippers are capable of. You've seen them yourself. I've been attuned to the intelligence work for a long time now. They're looking for Avalon. He fits all of the signs, all of the research I've seen. I've even read the majority of the scrolls myself. He fits all of the omens. He is the son of the son of Dracula."

"Ranelle, it's just a legend. It's been around for longer than we have. It's not real," he stated, his arms crossing.

She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling when he continued to look at her, unbelieving. "This is why I was afraid you wouldn't listen to me. I'm telling you, it's real. Or at least every vampire out there believes it is," she said, her tone exasperated despite trying to keep her voice down.

Logan shook his head again, his arms dropping back to his sides as he clenched his fists. "You're right, I refuse to listen to this nonsense. It's nothing more than religious propaganda that was thought up a millennia ago. Had I known that there were idiots out there who believed in it, I would've taken better care to hide my family," he snapped.

"That's why I wanted to find you, to warn you," she hissed in response. "Had I known you were going to be such a bloody beast about it, I wouldn't have put my neck out for you three years ago by going behind my maker's back." Her fingers gripped into tight fists at her sides before she let go, turning away for a moment. "If you had been there in nineteen-twenty-four, in Paris, I would've told you that it was becoming real then. But you never showed. I had hopes that if it was you and I, we could have handled it. Instead, I was left with nothing and no one. You could have known then but you didn't bother to give me the dignity of decency."

Logan's nose wrinkled in frustration. "Decency? My family is the one who got split up. My wife is still missing. You don't get to be angry with me for not believing in this bloody prophecy," he shot back.

"Your wife who is a Moon Worshipper?" she responded, becoming angry. He was just as pig-headed and stubborn as she remembered. "How do you think Thorne and Hadrian's people found you? She left a trail of breadcrumbs for her coven mates to find her, long before she was wearing her first maternity dress. And she wasn't secretive about it, which made it much easier for us to find the clues. Your wife is a Moon Worshipper who wanted to bring your first-born to her people to sway this prophecy their way, which would ultimately mean our death, and all other mortals and supernaturals alike."

Logan's nose flared as he inhaled hard, his cheeks flecked with red as rage flooded him. "Loraine is not a Moon Worshipper. I've known her for thirty years. She wouldn't keep a secret like that from me."

"I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it is the truth," she said softly, trying to calm both of them with her voice. "And I'm sorry I don't have more information on where you can find her now; but I do know that she set you up, Logan. I'm not denying that her love for you may be real, but she wanted to give Avalon to her people for the prophecy. Moon Worshippers have vowed to put an end to all Shadow Stalkers, and any chances of unification and regulation along with us. They plan to take over this world by using Witches and Wolves and turn humans into nothing more but living blood bags as their slaves. And we can't take that chance should they ever possess Avalon as the Dark Child."

The Blood Warrior growled under his breath, turning to look away. His head continued to shake as he tried to go over every detail he could remember in his mind.

"The crescent moon tattoo," Ranelle said softly from behind him. "She has one above her heart, right below her collarbone?"

"Yes," he answered slowly.

"And she has more trouble controlling her thirst and her energy on full moons. Sometimes, you possibly thought she could be stronger than you, maybe even older?"

He nodded, staring into space as memories swept over him. Of watching his wife on those nights, of how she had to force herself to move slowly and not with vampire speed at all times when the moon was full, and how her bloodlust sometimes shocked him that perhaps she'd never learned control.

"Yes," he said at last.

Ranelle sighed from behind him, her arms crossing over her chest. "Did she ever talk about her sire or where she came from?"

"No," Logan answered, turning to face her again. "She didn't like to talk about that part of her life with me, with anyone. I had always assumed she had a dark past she didn't like to share."

The sharp stare he gave her was enough to blister, but she didn't look away.

"Loraine Bonaparte was turned in nineteen-forty-three in Belgium by a Nazi soldier who had deserted his post in nineteen-forty-one. People thought he was a human who had decided to defect from the German military. The truth is that he was a Moon Worshipper who was turning new vampires to help replenish their own army. While our forces were only going after the injured who wouldn't have survived without vampire blood, Moon Worshippers were kidnapping and turning Europeans like rabid animals. Loraine Bonaparte was one of those unfortunate victims," she said calmly, her tone turned from aggressive to matter-of-fact. Logan knew it was her signature when she had a point she wanted to make.

"By nineteen-forty-nine, she was a spy for the Moon Worshippers and was positioned in Italy," she went on. "She tried then to make her way into our ranks by going after a few of the men there. When she was unsuccessful, she returned to Belgium, and then Russia, before finding her way to Finland in nineteen-fifty-four, where she met you."

Logan stared at her, his brow furrowing. There was no way anyone could have known where he met Loraine. He had had no connections, no friends, during those years. From the 1920s through the 1950s, he had drifted.

"How did you know?"

She sighed, looking at the ground. "Because I was told when your name came up in intelligence reports, that you were seen in Finland with a Moon Worshipper operative," she answered truthfully. "There were some who believed you had switched loyalties and reneged on the treaty from the seventeenth century. I convinced Seren that pursuing you for further prosecution wasn't worth the coven's time. We were too busy trying to beat the Moon Worshippers in the race for the Dark Child Prophecy... I knew the blood of Dracula was part of the key, but he still had another fledge alive then."

"Adam?" Logan asked, knowing she would confirm what he knew already. "That bloody fool deserved what he got. He would never be part of any prophecy, real or fake."

"Regardless, I had hopes you wouldn't have to be a part of this and it would pass on to future generations," Ranelle said. "I thought perhaps maybe you weren't the one who would be the father of the Dark Child. I had hoped you weren't. In the Twenties, I wanted to tell you in person that the omens were being predicted. And when I saw the first damaged scrolls out of the Capitol archives, you needed to know. I wanted to tell you then."

"You've known they were beginning to believe in this ridiculous falsity since then?" he asked, his tone going flat.