He crouched on the rooftop of the building opposite hers. His little G'nya. 

She was taken from him centuries ago. Now, seven hundred years later, fate has heeded his pleas and given them a second chance.

As he watched her, he realised that his memories of her were greatly corroded. They did her beauty no justice; she was even more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. And he had been alive for a long, long time.

He watched her through her flimsy curtains, successfully blocking out the sounds of the surrounding alleyway. A car honked far in the distance, the wail of an ambulance following soon after.

She had gone into a separate room to dress, for that he was saddened. Now she had returned to her sleeping quarters to bed for the night. This fact soothed him some.

He had found her three days ago, and refused to let her leave his sight for as long as he had a beating heart. The last time he left her alone...

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Let's just say he didn't want to wait another seven centuries to see her again. 

He watched as she gracefully pulled back the sheets, revealing a musty, off-white mattress. He smiled as he remembered; she had always hated sleeping upon a sheet. She preferred all the sheets cover her instead.

A wave of fatigue overcame him and he steadied himself on the protruding lip of the roof. He held his hand to his head and shook himself free of the dizzy spell; he was going to have to feed soon.

He lifted his wrist to his mouth and made a small puncture wound in the median vein in his wrist, quickly devouring the small drop of blood that escaped before his body instinctively healed the wound.

Drinking a bit of his blood kept him alive, but he couldn't live off of it for much longer. You need to feed soon, a voice in his mind told him. What good are you at protecting her if you can't even keep yourself awake? 

He nodded slightly to himself; he would wait till she fell into the peaceful oblivion that was sleep before he stole away to find the unfortunate mortal who would be his meal.

He watched as the lights went out in the apartment, having watched carefully that she locked the doors and windows, and silently dropped the five stories to the pavement below. 

His dark leather cloak fluttered around him as he landed, momentarily displaying the assortment of daggers and throwing knives he had strapped to his legs to anyone who was watching.  

He straightened himself, checking to see if he had been spotted. 

Finding no curious eyes, he disappeared into the night.