Author's Note:

So this story came to mind when I was thinking of how some people would have been saved from near death (by Carlisle). My question was, how would somebody who was untrained as a vegetarian save someone when the scent of blood flowing easily and quickly, from multiple cuts, was there in the air? Would good things come to fruit, or not?

Disclaimer: I've tweaked the whole sparkling vampires thing down quite a bit, because frankly, it's a little ridiculous. The rest of the Twiconcept on vampires and werewolves belongs to Stephenie Meyer, as does the Twiverse.

Read and review please! (:

Chapter One: Death

She was a dreamer.

That was the first impression I felt off her, a shockwave of dreams and longings pulsing vividly from her body. Her memories and hopes flittered through me, frail as butterflies, as all human dreams were. I approached the huddled shape tentatively. I had not planned on stumbling upon a living, breathing human girl - I had not expected to see anyone out at such an early hour. Behind me, the lamplight flickered briefly, casting a dull glow over the dark stretch of street. It was pretty, the night was, the stars glinting up in their rightful place for me alone. I could feel the wind around me with such intensity, hear the soft murmur of human voices a far way back in their own homes, but nothing was more potent than the girl lying before me right then and there. Her body was slumped over, her fair, fair hair - hair that was almost white - spilling over her face. She lay in an obscure position before a pretty, well-tended garden, and a picturesque, cottage-like house. Something was hooked on the white picket fence; her bag, presumably. I approached, trying to make my footsteps loud and meaningful, to startle her into waking. Still, she did not stir.

I flitted through the night, avoiding the clumps of housing and human objects that sprung up at me, to the other side of the road. The grey stretch of tarmac was still empty, and nobody was in sight. Gently, I extended my probe; I had perfected the art of sensing beings so that I could filter through them, one at a time, rather than have a tidal wave of dreams assault me. I caught a woman's idle wishing her husband would pleasure her once more - a little boy's hopeless desire for a new bike -- the soft murmurings of a couple -- but no concern, no radiating despair and loss.

So this girl was on her own then.

I approached slowly. My body felt strange, like it lacked something that was both unnecessary and yet familiar. Air, I reminded myself, just breathe a little. While it had been an odd one hundred and fifty nine years since I'd been truly required to breathe, I still liked the motion; the easy influx of sweet air, and then the corresponding outflow of stale, dusty breath. Had I noticed the dark liquid pooling around the girl, though, I would not have breathed in so deeply.

At once my throat seized up, and I panicked, flying backwards, as far away from the girl as I could possibly get. I closed my eyes, fighting against the instinctive desire and passion that raged through me; felt my fingers dig through the metal of the lamppost as if it was nothing but thin air. I was strong - I knew that - and swift, and almost untraceable when I wanted to be. I could carry the girl off, the dying girl, take her far away from these suburbian streets and devour her elsewhere. Her scent was intoxicating, crushing, destroying me internally; if my heart still beat, it would've thudded furiously, driving me onwards. The centre of my world swayed. I did not dare breathe once more; the reminder of her smell was already flames scorching my entire body. It possessed me, ravaged me like a beast. The streets shrunk and faded as my willpower battled, and then as it gave way, increased, bursting into exuberant detail. In my mind I mapped plans - so many plans - to grab that dying girl, to feast upon that sweet blood. It sang to me, more potent than anything before - smelt like a thousand flowers I could not name, smelt like a rich, robust wine I had never tasted, called me like the drugs I'd heard of so often. It was strange, I thought, in one clear moment of sanity, how these spasms ripped through me, how every desire told me to move forward, how my body was poised for action, my hands curled into claws ready to rip and tear, my teeth bared, every single bit of me primed for the fight, and yet, I still clung to a stupid lamppost in the vain hope I could control myself.

No, something told me, although that voice was very faint and dim. I could remember Carlisle; the man with the kind eyes and the warm smile who'd created me. I had lived with him for a handful of years before the crowd and the pressure had finally made me buckle and turn. I could remember his warmth, his kindness in saving me from the numerous bullet wounds I'd sustained as a traitor to the nation.

"Wyatt, you can't go back." he'd told me, the very first chiming words that had issued from his mouth, "There's no place for you. I faked your death; gave it out to the news."

He'd then gone on to tell me how he lived, and I'd tried it. It had been harder for me than anything - harder than handing secret documents over to the wrong side. I'd struggled not to breathe, to relax my tense pose and calm the bloodlust in my eyes when I'd smelt that warm, wet scent of human blood. Carlisle had trained me diligently, never sighing nor complaining when I'd given into my instincts; he had merely supported me. On my first few animal kills, no matter what disgusted faces I pulled, he'd applauded me on, a light shining in his eyes. But then - after the fifth human kill or so, it had grown too much. I had left, undoubtably shattering his hopes and dreams - turning my back on my creator and heading into Canada into an attempt to cull my fiery bloodlust. I had hoped a century would destroy it; after all, my eyes were golden now.

But, golden or not, nothing could erase that indomitable thirst for blood. This blood. This girl's blood. I had smelt blood when it had been spilled around me in larger quantites than this before, and even on my own, I had managed to walk away, drop my head and hide my shining eyes. But this time, this girl's blood allured me - it was like musk, like Halloween candy, and it possessed me. Dimly, I tried to recall Carlisle's face - tried to stop myself once more. The lamp-post crumbled beneath my fingers, and suddenly, his face was gone - and all restraint had snapped. The world vanished into a pinprick of a girl; there was nothing else but her blood, her body, and I; that indescribable possesion filling me.

She was small and paler than any human I'd expected; her white-blonde hair almost matched the colour of her skin. She was crumpled like she wasn't supposed to be crumpled, her body pulled in on itself painfully. And she was cold. But my mind did not process any of this; the heady scent of her blood filled me, and I felt my instincts roar at me; drink. Drink plentifully and be cured of this madness. And then, return with her body, and hide her. And forget all this. Forget.

Would I ever be able to look at Carlisle once more? Most likely not. He would just become another distant memory.

And then the girl's voice cried out to me. I could suddenly sense her, read her, feel her like never before had I felt any other being. Her despair was larger than any other emotion, swallowing me up in an infinity of darkness. Her soul -- was broken. I could see that. I could feel my own ripping and twisting within me, as her's had. Her awareness was there - finite and dim, like a candle slowly going out, and while I could not read her thoughts - that was a power I did not possess - I could feel the finality of her death. Her memories flashed at me through her unconsciousness; jeering faces, bruises on her body, her mother in tears and her father laughing, walking haphazardly with a ruddy complexion and unfocused eyes. More blows landing - they stung both me and her, and we flinched away. A knife - sharp, jagged, tearing open her sky. Thick red blood splurting out - I pulled away from her dreams, desperate not to let the fire possess me anymore.

But she threw more at me, prettier dreams this time - memories of a boy who'd held her tight and kissed her, happy thoughts of sunshine and rain on autumn days, a little girl jumping in a pile of leaves, the fans whirring as she passed a note to a friend in class. More, and more; artwork covering her bedroom wall, a silent movie clicking it's way through a reel as she laughed. Stories, beautiful words, more images - more, and more, and more. I pulled away, desperate, gasping; there was too much. Too much beauty. Too much despair. Too much loss.

But the bloodlust had abated slightly - just so slightly. I had felt her despair and her own triumph at her taking her life. She hadn't wanted to, but had been compelled to. Like I was compelled to finish it for her. We were strange beings, that was true. I felt her conscious flicker briefly inside my head, and then, with the slightest of sighs, the candle went out. The girl on the ground did not move, but her blood cooled. My desire was as potent as ever, but I forced it back, trying to concentrate.

"Hey." I murmured. I pulled a name from one of her half-dreams. "Jennifer. Jennifer, wake up. C'mon."

I did not touch her, for fear I would break her; she seemed so frail already. The girl did not stir, but I saw the tip of her candle glow faintly; she was almost gone.

"Jennifer - Jenny? Jen?" I murmured. I didn't lean closer either; instead, I projected my voice to her ears alone. "You've got ... paintings to do. Stories to write. Sculptures to create. Jennifer, your friends are going to be worried."

Suspicion ran through her heart; she did not know me. She did not have friends.

"Ben." I said, pulling another name from her memories. This time, the candle flickered once more - a little stronger. "Ben's waiting for you in class, I bet."

She moved slightly, and the scent of her blood grew stronger - more powerful than before, now that I knew her. The lust overtook me once more; slammed into my chest, and I curled my fists, standing there like a statue. I knew this dying girl now. I knew her dreams, her beautiful dreams. And I'd never been a gentleman before - I had simply drunk my fill and taken what I could, as any other vampire would've - but this time, I couldn't bring myself to feast. She - Jennifer - had thrown her memories at me. Her dreams. And they had been beautiful.

I could do one thing.

I dipped my head to her throat, and the scent ravaged me once more, shaking my entire body. Her skin was soft, but cold - thank god it didn't possess the warmth that would've driven me into a blind haze. I was thankful she was dying; thankful I could save fher, rather than rid her of her humanity like she might not've wanted. Briefly, it occured to me she would prefer to die - but the quiet fear that had called me to her suggested otherwise. She was so very cold - her blood was cooling too, although faintly, so faint I had to listen more intently, her pulse still ran. The need, the desire, for blood ran through me once more and I drank - for just a moment. Her blood rushed through me like a hot burn, despite the fact it was cool, but I pulled my face away, struggling to control myself. Instead, I bit down there, on her neck; and then at her pulse points. I could only hope. I had never created before, not like Carlisle - and yet, as I staggered away to hide, to wash the blood from my lips, pride shot through me. I had resisted temptation, as Adam could've resisted the apple.

I hadn't resisted Eve's charms, though.

I hoped you liked it! I'll update soon! Now rush off, and go write up a review for me, yeah mm'kays?