The next night, Logan laid awake as he felt the sun sink towards the horizon, threatening to make the evening into night. He watched her sleep beside him, her bare body on her side of the bed. He watched her chest rise and fall with each slow breath. He had a moment of déjà vu, focusing in from her breath to the sound of her heart and its slow, undead beat. Logan glanced at the scar across her abdomen and he frowned, trying not to recall other memories. He leaned down from his position propped up on the flat of his palm and elbow to reach for her. He traced his thumb along her jawline and then her cheek.

She stirred slightly, her body curling up for a moment before relaxing. She sighed as she felt his warm hand on her skin. Her eyes opened slowly to look up at him. "Hello," she murmured sleepily.

Logan smiled, stroking her cheek again. "Hello," he answered, keeping his voice quiet. He watched as she tried to wake up, her eyes half-open.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Not quite sunset. Go back to sleep," he told her, running his fingers through her dark hair.

She nodded in agreement and closed her eyes.

Logan watched her doze off, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry," he whispered at last, making her eyes open again as she looked up at him. "I'm sorry I left you waiting sixty years ago. I couldn't be there to see you."

She sighed, looking away from his gaze to study his chest and torso as she tried to wake up enough to process his words. "I waited for three nights, hoping you would take me away from all of this."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I was detained, and then I was afraid that if I went to you, I would only cause you more pain..."

Ranelle didn't say anything, instead continuing to stare at his torso.

Logan echoed her sigh, his gaze turning to look at her skin again. He frowned as he stared at the slice across her abdomen and the marks on her thighs. He touched the scars on her stomach with a gentle hand, reminding him of the past and the pain she had already endured centuries before.

She glanced up from staring into space, her attention turning to where his fingers rested.

"But, I wish more than anything I had broken the old rules long before that night," he said slowly. "Maybe these wouldn't be here if I had."

"It was a long, long time ago," she said softly, "in some other past life."

"I should have been there, and I should have stopped him the minute he laid hands on you," Logan said, his voice still quiet. "I abandoned you."

"It wasn't your fault," she replied. "I have never blamed you for that night."

He sighed again and nodded, leaning down once more. His lips brushed her forehead before his nose rubbed against her cheek. When she moved her head, he reached down to run his fingers through her dark auburn-brunette hair, concentrating on the strands slipping between each fingertip. He pulled back after a moment, looking at her. "You always felt like you were a fledgling and responsibility to me. And I have never been able to let go of the sense I failed in my duty to do right by you."

Ranelle sighed heavily, her eyes meeting his. "We both know we wouldn't be here if you had tried to take over the blood tie," she answered slowly. "Hadrian would not have let go of me without consequence... And you're finally here now," she added when he didn't seem to believe her words.

She didn't know if he understood that she held no blame over his head for the past. She knew he was not the reason Hadrian Winslow had forced his blood upon her and killed her, ending her human life. She had provoked that fate herself when her human family had been murdered. Logan had tried to save her. But it had been too late...

She remembered the first time she woke after her Turning, of his warmth as he held her broken body close to his and fed her small amounts of blood to help break the Turning fever. She had glimpsed their blood tie then, feeling his thoughts and mind within hers. When Hadrian became more possessive of her as his progeny, she had felt her bond with the Blood Warrior lessen and lessen over time. But it hadn't stopped the undeniable need she had to be with him.

And it had driven her sire mad, demanding the Count keep Logan away from the woman at all times.

"I promise, I won't leave again," he told her.

Ranelle smiled and nodded, her eyes closing when he kissed her forehead again. She crawled closer to him, pressing into his side as she rested her head on his chest and his arm circled around her. She sighed, enjoying the feeling of his body against hers again. "Neither will I," she vowed, her voice soft.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered and she nodded again, her eyes remaining closed. He waited for her to drift off and then pulled his left hand free to look at the wedding ring resting there. He stared at it for only a moment before he lifted his right hand. In one smooth movement, he pulled the circle of gold off his finger. He studied it for another moment and then put it on the bedside table.

He'd made the mistake not to stay too many times. And he didn't plan on ever making it again.

Logan finished placing the body of the six-year-old in the back of the wagon. He sighed heavily, stroking her cheek before covering her with a blanket. He paused when a shot rang out and then a loud scream filled the air from the camp. He whipped around to listen for its source. He pushed off his feet in fast movements, his body sprinting with vampire speed as he reached the clearing where a group of men stood around in a half circle.

He rushed to join them, shoving between the soldiers in their military uniforms as he came upon the sight. His face drained of color when he realized a severed head laid in the dirt at his feet. He looked across the gathered group to see Hadrian wiping blood off a dagger as more whimpering of pain continued. Logan watched the elder swing up onto his horse, leaving the gruesome scene of death and destruction behind.

The Blood Warrior turned his attention to the sounds coming from the ground as the scent of blood filled his nose. "No," he breathed, rushing forward. "No, no, no, no." He grabbed the woman by the shoulders gently, seeing the blood pooled on her dress and down her legs. Blood trickled from her mouth, matching the bite wound on her neck. Her blue eyes were clouded over with pain, but she was fully alert, her gaze locking onto his in a look of panic. She gripped his jacket with one hand, her knuckles white.

"No, Anna, I'm sorry," he said, pulling her body up to lean against his. "You'll be all right," Logan assured her, feeling her pulse slow.

"Let her die, Blood Warrior," Thorne Winslow ordered from off to his left, seated comfortably in his saddle.

Logan shot the man a dark look, continuing to cradle her body against his. "You swore she and the child would not be harmed. What honor is there in letting her die?" he snapped back.

Thorne smirked and shook his head before prompting his horse to follow his brother away from the deadly scene. "Haven't you learned? There is no honor among mortals," he called over his shoulder. "Let her die."

Once the grand elder was far enough away, Logan looked down at the woman when her grip slackened on his coat. "You'll be all right," he repeated as he brought his wrist to his mouth. He bit down quickly and then laid it on her lips. "Drink, Anna, drink my blood."

She choked, coughing when the thick liquid spilled into her mouth. She felt numb all over as the only remaining heat seemed to flow from her middle and find the cold, hard ground beneath her. She whimpered again, trying to keep her eyes open.

He grasped the nape of her neck when her head lulled backward. "I have you," he promised as she continued to look at him, her eyelids becoming heavy. He watched as her face continued to pale in color, her eyes losing focus. "I have you, my lady. You'll be all right."

Anna tried to inhale another breath, staring into his green eyes as everything else started to blur away. Her breath caught in her throat and she struggled to get anything into her lungs. It felt like drowning on dry land. She continued to look at him. Make it stop, she breathed silently.

"You'll be all right," Logan repeated helplessly, giving her a gentle shake. When she looked past him and up towards the night sky, he shook her again. "Look at me," he said. "Look at me, Anna. Hey," he begged, shaking her as tenderly as possible. He tuned his ears inward to listen to her body.

The sounds of her heart slowly lessened into nothing. He glanced down at her injuries to see the blood collected on her clothes and the puddle that had formed beneath them. He looked up at her face again to see it slack of emotion. Her eyes had closed and her head lulled into his chest.

"Anna?" he asked, stroking her dark auburn hair off her face gingerly. When she didn't move or make a sound, he grimaced. "Anna," he said again. He continued to stroke her hair, hoping to give her some kind of comfort as she passed into her afterlife. Tears welled up in his eyes and he shook his head to clear his vision. "Gods damn it," he whispered.

"Logan."

The blonde-haired man looked up from her lifeless body to see his sire standing above him. His face was stoic, but Logan could glimpse what looked like disappointment in his dark eyes. The Count glanced from his fledge to the blood that colored the earth beneath him and the woman's body.

"Her time has come. Let her go."

"I'm not leaving her out here," he whispered.

The Count groaned softly, becoming impatient with his fledge's disobedience. His hands gripped into fists at his side. He looked off to his right to see Nathaniel Bartholomeu stood on his opposite side and Kendall's fledglings, Marcius and Kearran, not far behind. "Bartholomeu, take the girl."

Nathaniel inhaled an uneasy breath, glancing over his shoulder to be certain the Winslows would not revoke the command. He nodded finally and moved towards the pair. He stopped just shy of the Blood Warrior's crouching form and offered his hands.

Logan looked down at her, his grip tightening around her petite frame that was already cold. His head shook.

"Give him the girl, Logan," Dracula ordered, his tone thick with irritation.

Nathaniel looked at the Count and took another slow breath. He knelt down onto one knee into the puddle of blood. He held out his hands again to take Lady Linhall's body. "I promise," he murmured, "I'll take good care of her."

Logan's teeth ground together and he lowered his chin to hide his face as he pulled her closer to his body. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, he thought silently, wishing she could hear him. I'm so sorry, Anna.

"Here," came the sound of Kearran's voice, and he looked up just in time to see her crouch down beside Nathaniel, not caring as blood began to stain her blue skirt. She reached forward and cradled the woman's head as Nathaniel slid his hands around the woman's torso.

Logan let go as Anna's weight was distributed into Nathaniel's arms. He looked down at his hands that were stained with her blood, his shirt and jacket already dark red as it seeped through his clothes to his skin. He stared at the blood; and, for the first time in decades, his hands began to shake.

Kearran stood and held Anna's neck as Nathaniel rearranged her weight against his torso. Once he was settled, she stroked the woman's hair and rested her cheek against the man's chest. "Go," she whispered to the dark-haired fledge.

Logan hung his head and pushed his blood-stained palms to his face. He had failed. He had failed her...