A/N: This will be dark in places, feature a lot of gore and death, language, SLASH and sex (dark vampy sex included); so if that's too much for your mind to handle then this story isn't for you. Also, I am a fang lover, I believe a vampire is not a vampire without fangs, so my Twivamps will all have fangs.

UNIVERSE: Alternate Universe.

RELATIONSHIPS: Jasper/Maria .. Athenodora/Caius .. Jasper/Caius .. Bella/Edward .. Jasper/Bella/Caius.

DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns all recognizable characters of the Twilight saga.

P.S Don't forget to tell me what you think.


PROLOGUE

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CAIUS ( YEAR 1921)

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The paintbrush within my hand works at the chaotic speed of Marcus and Athenodora's violin and piano rendition of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor from within the music room a floor below me.

I stand in my own personal solar in my painting-breeches barefoot and bare chested. Burgundy, both dry and moist stains almost every surface of my body as I paint - my hand and soul the master. My eyes are unseeing, my mind unfocused. This is the fortieth of the night, the fortieth painting of two individuals who are absolute strangers to me.

Who are they? Who are these two beautiful beings who haunt my subconscious?

My cold lifeless heart clenches in longing at the sight of their faces. Their eyes hold searing love as they gaze back at me, their arms promise warmth and comfort and their bodies beckon me to share unrestrained carnal pleasures with them. Still, who are they?

I dip my brush into the silver chalice which holds the warm burgundy liquid and swipe it against the canvas - the final stroke. I take a step back and marvel at the sight of the two of them. Both partially covered in sheets, naked otherwise, the male's chin length curled hair haphazardly covering his face and one eye. The female's long tousled hair swept over her left shoulder, her exposed bosom causes a stirring within my breeches leading me to hiss in both desire and frustration. Both of them are holding a hand out towards me.

If only my own wife inspired such desire and comfort within me.

Angered that these two beauties are most probably just figments of my wanton imagination I growl in anger at the disheartening thought that I will never have them.

At my growl I hear a gasp of fear followed by a whimper coming from a corner within my solar. I look to the left and see a young human woman trying to make herself appear as small as possible within the candlelit room, hoping I will not see her, or will just forget her. Fool.

I take my paintbrush out of my chalice and place it on the small dark wood table next to my canvas stand and drink the rest of the chalice's contents before placing that down too.

I step over the sources of my paint whom are now nothing more than purple tinged corpses and smirk in excitement at the fear radiating off of the human and the release her warm flesh will grant me.

If I cannot have my beautiful bloodied angels then I suppose I will simply have to make-do with my wife and bloodbags such as this lovely bambina cowering before me.