Ranelle finished putting together her last luggage tote, adding her travel documents to her sling-bag. She didn't foresee them needing to travel by human means, but it would have been smart of her, just in case. Being detained without a passport could lead to dire consequences should humans try to hold them. She sighed and turned to glance at her remaining bags of prized belongings. They wouldn't need much once they had safely arrived at the Italian Capitol.

It had been another two weeks since the Winslow siblings had come to the English coven house with all intentions of scolding their elder fledges. She'd been careful to stay clear of Thorne and Kendall in the following nights they remained in the London fortress. And the plan had been assembled with care. The three Mezdors were to travel from England into the Netherlands before turning south to Germany, to France, and then south again to Switzerland and finally Italy.

She bit down on her bottom lip, taking in her bedroom again. While the majority of her belongings would remain until further notice, she hated to think there was a chance she may never see them again. It had been her only home for the past few decades, filled with memories from centuries of immortal life, of love, of fear, and of hope. Her blue eyes then settled on Avalon's backpack, mostly filled with his favorite books rather than his clothes. She had decided to save some space in her luggage for his clothing. And while she had no intention of being in hiding for years, she considered it was always a possibility. They may be living out of baggage for a long time...

She may never have a regular home anymore; they may be living like gypsies for the next few years, or even decades.

Ranelle turned away from her sad thoughts when she heard Logan's voice from the sitting room. "What?" she asked for clarification, realizing she hadn't heard his whole comment.

"I asked if you wanted me to pack anything from your desk," Logan repeated for her. Not hearing an immediate response or sound that she had heard him again, he moved to peek into the bedroom. He frowned somewhat, seeing her staring at the collection of full bags. "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing," she lied, her voice quiet. "Just knowing things are changing."

"I know," he soothed, walking over to her. "But, I promise, we are doing this for the betterment of us and Avalon. It'll be safer. We can't keep putting everyone here at risk, especially you and this one. I'm not willing to chance it any longer," he added, reaching down to touch her small baby bump.

She sighed again, her head nodding. "I best get Avalon out of his bath or he'll be in there all night," she said, trying to change the subject. She didn't want to discuss it anymore. Her emotions constantly played with her mind, making the feeling of uncertainty linger in every fiber of her being.

Logan nodded, letting her pull away as she headed to their bathroom, picking up Avalon's change of clothes from the back of the couch. He smiled lightly and turned back to his tasks in the other room. He returned to the sitting room and finished putting together a few of her more important paperwork folders. He then added his deck of playing cards and put together his last few weapons. He opened the bulletproof case that sat on the desk to find his knife and dagger collection. Each of the blades were perfectly polished and oiled, waiting for their next opportunity to become dirty with enemy blood. He took two of the longer daggers from the collection and slipped them into their waiting sheaths. He added them to his belt and then took two smaller ones, repeating his action. He glanced at the sheath and hilt of his sword that he had brought back from Scotland.

Logan stared at it for a long moment, the memory playing through his head of Dracula giving it to him and bestowing the title of "Blood Warrior," upon him. He sighed, touching the old leather scabbard with gentle fingers, as though the material would shrivel beneath his touch. The minute his hand rested on it, his memory changed as he saw himself presenting it to a child with a grin. "This will be yours," he said, his voice warm.

He took his fingers off the sword, flashing back into his reality. The man squinted at the weapon, surprised by the memory. But it hadn't felt like a memory from his past. He picked up the sword and added it to the ruck sack he had started for himself. He then turned to grab the last couple knives from the box.

He glanced at the time absently. Ranelle wanted to head to bed early since they had planned to leave as soon as the sun set the next night. He had just under an hour. Once he was done, Logan headed back into the bedroom as he heard Ranelle and Avalon discussing their coming departure. Avalon sounded somewhat upset, his tone sad.

"But, what if I want to stay here?" the boy asked, his voice quiet.

Ranelle sighed. "I wish we could, darling," she replied. "But we will have plenty of good times and adventures in Italy. You remember the Capitol?"

"Uh-huh," he answered. "I was so little."

"Well, it'll be just like that again, but this time there will be more people there and we'll have more places and times to play and for you to grow up. No more bad people coming for you," she said, her voice comforting and optimistic. "Just us three."

"And the baby," the seven-year-old added.

"Yes, and your little sibling," she agreed with a light giggle.

Logan smiled at her tone.

It would all work out for them.

The door opened from the bathroom and Avalon came out, dressed in his sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. His light, platinum-blonde hair was wet against his forehead, his face still flushed from the warmth of the bathroom. He looked up at his father with a small smile. "Hi, Dad," he said before heading into the sitting room.

"Hello," his father responded, watching him go. "Did you thank your mother for the clean pajamas?"

"Yup," the boy responded from his daybed.

The man chuckled, his head nodding. Ranelle had raised him well with courteousness and good manners.

Ranelle followed her adopted son out of the bathroom a few moments after, dropping the wet towels into the closet hamper as she went. She sighed, tired, as she rubbed her baby bump for a moment when her stomach clenched with nervousness. She didn't have the heart to tell Logan she didn't want to leave London. But, perhaps they would come back soon.

Logan smiled at her. "Why don't you change, too?" he asked gently. "You look exhausted."

Her head shook as she glanced down at her jeans, flats, and button-down blouse. "No, I may have to run up to the offices before we turn in still. I have too much pride to let anyone see me in my sleeping clothes," she responded at last.

"I can always do that for you," he offered. "You don't need to be running around."

"I know, but I don't mind," she answered as she turned to lay out her leather jacket for the following night. Next she pulled out her boots from the closet and laid them on the ground near her clothing that waited patiently on the arm of the couch.

Just as she went to clean up the bathroom, a loud, screaming wail broke from the floors above. She turned around and looked up just as Logan did, their eyes turning to watch the warning light go off and begin to flash red.

"No," she breathed, her voice weak.

"Shit," Logan hissed, hearing the sound of the alarms from the upper floors.

"Mu-u-uum, Da-a-ad!" Avalon cried out from the other room.

"Stay right there, Avalon," Logan called. He turned and grabbed the gun belt from his side of the bed and whipped it around his waist, fastening it quickly. Overhead, the alert lights continued to flash and he could hear the commotion on the upper floors as people rushed to act. He then moved towards the dresser and pulled open the top drawer, finding the waiting stakes and extra magazine clips. "Take Avalon to the lower level's back entrance, like we practiced. When it's over, I'll come back to get you," he said, checking the gun clips to be sure they were fully loaded.

Ranelle pulled her leather jacket on and zipped it up over her blouse. She then reached for her own holster that rest atop a duffle bag. "You can't go by yourself," she answered. "There aren't enough people to hold L-Four if the top floors get breached past Nathaniel's forces."

"No," he shot back. "You're going to take Avalon downstairs to the tunnels and wait there until I come for you. And if I can't, I'll make sure someone else does, and you run."

She paused, turning around to look at him as she added a stake to her belt. Her face went cold, realizing what he was saying. "Logan..."

Logan sighed, facing her. "We knew this night might come. Nathaniel and Kearran will need me upstairs. I don't want you there—"

"But—" she tried to interrupt.

"No, I don't want you there," he cut her off in response. He approached her and held her shoulders. "I need you to stay with Avalon, to protect him and yourself. I can't risk you getting hurt, or worse. And I can't bear the thought of losing you, or our children. Do this for me, please." His hand ran down to stroke over the small bump at her stomach, still small enough to not be noticed at first glance.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued to stare at his face, watching his gaze settle on her torso.

"We don't know how much they know about the prophecy. I don't want them to get their hands on you, or Avalon. If they know that Avalon isn't the correct child, they could be looking for my new wife, especially if they can threaten me to influence this prophecy. I don't want them to see you by my side. I need you hidden, for your own safety."

"I'm not leaving without you," she asserted.

"Yes, you will. You run and you get to Italy. Follow the plan exactly as we discussed. I will make sure that someone goes with you. You and Avalon run, and don't look back," he told her. "Promise me."

"But what if we get lost? What if we never see you again?" she begged, her tone desperate.

He nodded reassuringly. "Yes you will. No matter where you go, I will find you. Promise me."

She looked him in the eye, swallowing back her tears. "I promise," she whispered as the words burned her tongue.

He leaned down to kiss her, his mouth locking over hers with practiced perfection. He pulled back when she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. "Good. Go now," he ordered, pushing her towards the door.

Ranelle nodded and grabbed her satchel bag from the cushion of the armchair. She slung it across her body and then grabbed the reserve pistol from the top of the dresser. "Avalon, get your backpack," she called, "and your jacket." She then grabbed a messenger boy's cap from the dresser and pulled it on over her hair, hiding her face. She glanced at Logan to see him put on his own leather coat and hurry to follow her.

The woman turned to Avalon as she got into the sitting room, watching him pull his dark green corduroy coat on, struggling to get it zipped as his fingers shook with fear. She hurried to him, pulling his hands away and quickly zipping it for him. She grabbed his hand and led him to the door. "C'mon, darling."

"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice frightened.

"To the back tunnels, just like we practiced," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Logan?" she hollered over the sounds of the horns.

"I'm right behind you," he answered her as he grabbed his last two weapons, a pair of magazine clips filled with wooden bullets. He followed the two to the hall just as a loud boom sounded from above. He grabbed his wife's arm quickly and pulled her body into his. "Be safe," he whispered to her, just loud enough to be heard between the bellowing alarms. He knelt down and hugged Avalon tightly. "Stay with your mother. Do not leave her side, do you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes, Dad, I promise," the boy answered, hugging his father around the neck.

"I'll be right behind you. Don't wait for me. I will get to you," he promised as he kissed his son on the top of his head. He stood again and kissed Ranelle one more time. "Take care of them, my love. I love you," he said in her ear. "Go now."

"I love you, too. And I will," she swore, inhaling his scent for her memories. She gripped Avalon's hand again and pulled him to the vault door at the end of the hall beyond their apartment. She turned to look at Logan one last time as he nodded his head to them. Ranelle inhaled an uncertain breath and then quickly undid the padlock combination to the secret exit, her hands unsteady. She pulled it open and shepherded Avalon inside. The auburn-brunette followed and pulled the door nearly shut behind her, leaving it unlocked for him to follow.

Logan watched them go and then turned to run for the main door. He gestured to the guard there. "Do not let anyone else down here besides those of us on the council," he ordered, and the man nodded quickly in obedience. He pulled the door open and began to rush up the stairs, hearing the sounds of gunfire and opposition from the floors above. He ran up the stairs with vampire speed, passing those who were fleeing down to the lower levels for the other secret, backdoor exits to the coven. They were one-way passages that were only added to the coven's structure for means of escape.

And if everyone was fleeing, there was enough of a fight that Nathaniel had ordered an evacuation.

I did the right thing, he thought, thinking of his family running through the old tunnel that reminded him of a mine shaft. They're safer this way.

He raced around the crowds, and found Vincent blocking off the stairs at the entrance to L4 with a squadron of six men. "How bad?" he called over the noise, drawing his gun.

"Heavy fire on L-Two and L-Three," the Italian responded. "We're just here to hold this floor so people can get out and make a run for the safe houses... Where's Ranelle?" he asked in return.

"Sticking to the plan," he answered.

"Kearran and Nathaniel went to engage on L-Two," Vincent went on. "I don't know how long they'll be able to hold it."

"Who sounded the alarm?"

"Nathaniel's man, Schultz," Vincent said. "He hit the panic button and called out over the radios."

"They're going to need all hands, then," Logan said, looking up the stairs towards the sounds of battle. "Stay here and hold this floor. Don't let anyone else get past you."

"I don't plan to," Vincent called after the Blood Warrior as the man rushed up the stairs in pursuit of combat.

Logan ran up the remaining stairs to L3, finding Marcius and three men firing through the doorway that led up to L2 and L1, huddled around the doorframe to take cover from returning fire. "Marcius!" he called over the din.

The blonde-haired man turned his head, his automatic rifle pulled tight to his shoulder as he reloaded the stock clip.

"How many?" Logan hollered in repeat of what he had asked Vincent.

Marcius made a motion with his hand to indicate twenty. He then pressed his earpiece tighter to his head as he listened to the radio. He finally glanced back at Logan as the Blood Warrior made it to crouch behind him in cover. "Where're the other two?" he asked, meaning Avalon and Ranelle, worry in his voice.

"Headed out of Bristol," he responded in code. He flinched when a loud crash went off, sounding like a flash-bang grenade.

"I don't know how much longer Kearran can hold them," Marcius added, watching as one of his men turned the doorframe to return fire.

"Can you cover me?" Logan asked above the noise.

"You're going in by yourself?"

"I can handle it. Someone needs to back them up."

Marcius shook his head. "Nathaniel would want you to run."

"I know," Logan responded to his coven brother. "But I wouldn't feel right about it. I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" the Saxon vampire asked, his voice breaking in the gunfire.

"Go with them. I wouldn't trust anyone else to get my family out of this city safely other than you or your blood-sister," Logan responded. "I'll help Nathaniel hold off the Moon Worshippers."

Marcius growled under his breath, conflicted. He didn't want to leave Kearran and the council behind, but it had been part of the plan for him to escort the Mezdors out of London. He cursed aloud in old Gaelic as he yanked his radio headset off. He passed it to Logan with a forceful hand. "Don't let anyone get past you. I'll get them as far as I can."

"Thank you, Brother," Logan said, smiling as he took the radio from the man.

Marcius switched places with him, glancing at his team for a moment as his point-man nodded in acknowledgement to the change in command. The Saxon turned to go and hurried down the stairs, his boots finding the paved concrete steps with ease in the flashing red lights. He made his way for the Winslow floor.

Logan sighed in relief and put on the radio headset, adjusting the earpiece. He could hear the hollering of numbers and commands from Nathaniel as he ordered guards to report to different positions while they tried to cap and bottleneck the number of enemies coming in. He patted the man in front of him on the back, and the soldier immediately changed places with him, getting Logan one step closer to the door. He then touched the next man's back, repeating the same swap. Once he was just inside the doorframe, he lowered himself down into a crouch and glanced around the corner when the enemy gunfire ceased after a moment of onslaught.

He could see the smoke from firearm discharge and smell the burnt gunpowder. From somewhere off to his left, he heard Kearran hollering orders to her unit. From off to the right near the other doorway from L1, he saw movement as men in white and light grey tried to breach the floor. He glanced at Marcius's point-man. "Hold this position and cover me," he commanded.

The soldier nodded, stepping back around the corner of the door and firing at the enemy.

Logan dashed through, rushing to get to Kearran's side from where they took cover behind the reception desk that waited there, the black wood and its gold emblem already damaged by bullet holes. "You all right?" he called.

"Hanging in there," she responded, motioning for one of her men to take up the act of shooting at the Moon Worshipper forces so Marcius's men wouldn't waste all of their ammunition. "Bastards have taken nearly all of L-One. I don't know how many men Nathaniel still has," she hollered as her men returned fire to the enemy.

"Can you get me in there?" he asked.

"You want to go into the thick of it?" she questioned in response.

"I can at least help pave the way. Follow me in and we can double all of Nathaniel's man-power."

The blonde-haired woman hissed something in another, Old-World language as she reloaded her rifle. "What about everyone else?"

"I'd rather we close off the rest of the coven now than risk losing any more floors," Logan said, his eyes on the door as he tried to count how many Moon Worshippers waited at its entrance. There could only be three at most.

"Done, following your lead," she said at last.

"Let's run a 'Bloody Mary,'" he said, referring to Nathaniel's playbook of defense for the coven house.