The lazy midsummer sun bathed the bustling town of Volterra, Italy, in a warm golden glow; brightening everything it touched throughout the whole valley. Many of the buildings, with their snow-white stucco walls and terracotta tiled roofs, gleamed like strings of polished pearls laid out along the green hills. Even the three-thousand-year-old Etruscan castle, that sat like a sentinel atop the tallest hillside overlooking the town, radiated like a beacon.

Of course, looks were deceiving. Nobody - no human being that is - knew that the ancient fortress was inhabited by the deadliest, most powerful vampire coven that ever roamed the face of the earth.

TheVolturi.

They lived three floors beneath the structure, well hidden from the prying eyes of townspeople and tourists who strolled the civilized areas above ground. The more private rooms of the castle boasted hidden entrances and exits. Intricate, mind-boggling mazes let its occupants move about undetected. Anyone not knowing the layout of the medieval keep, however, could easily get lost trying to find their way around. Or, in most instances, desperately trying to find their way out.

In one such tunnel a vampire journeyed. The sound of his sure-footed cadence echoing off the stone walls. The tunnel's blackness devoured him and shrouded him from view. He marched past torches that sat unlit in their wall sconces covered in dust and cobwebs. Of course, the absence of light was no deterrent. At least not to someone who possessed such keen vision. Absolute confidence let him blindly maneuver the twists and turns of the tunnel with ease.

Some would say such an ability was to one's advantage. Others could argue that such a gift was a curse. Whatever the verdict, the fact was that Sage DeMarco had spent half of his undead life living in the underbelly of Volturi Castle. He knew everything there was to know about the stronghold. And he also knew everything there was to know about everyone – and everything - living in and near the castle. He made it his business to know. After all, he was the Commander of the Crimson Guard.

Commander of the Queen's Crimson Guard to be precise.

Proceeding with due hast to the Queen's chambers, the dank and musty smell of the tunnel invaded Sage's heightened senses, unearthing memories that had been long ago buried. He recalled, with bitter disdain, when his life changed forever. It had been a little over six thousand years ago, but to him, it was as if it were just yesterday. The events leading up to his death were still fresh in his mind. He and his men had been returning home from battle when they'd stumbled across a young girl's body along the banks of the Tigris river. She looked to be no more than twenty or so and very close to death. Her long black hair, wet from the river, lay covering her face. It was in stark contrast to her pale, soft skin. After detecting a faint pulse, Sage, for some strange reason, had an overwhelming urge to save the unconscious girl. Even his men – seasoned warriors and cold-hearted bastards that they were – also had felt a protectiveness towards her. Without them knowing, the strange girl's perceived helplessness had sucked them all into a never-ending nightmare.

Still unconscious, the group had thought to let her regain her strength and so made camp in a stand of trees near the river. That night, as they slept, she'd awoken and attacked everyone in camp. Before they could raise their swords in defense, she had drained them of nearly all their blood. With such lose they were all tittering on the edge of death.

Weak and dying, Sage had begged her with his last remaining breath to spare his men. That he would do anything for her.

Seizing the moment, the girl agreed to help. She'd convinced the men that if they'd merely drink her blood, they'd be saved. Out of desperation - and to the sadistic bitch's amusement - they did as she'd instructed.

Soon they all were withering in pain as the young girl simply watched. She informed them that the only way to ease their suffering was to feed on the blood of another before the sun rose in the morning. If they did not, they would indeed die. She must have seen the disgust on their faces for she told them that if they wished to say a final farewell to their loved ones to do it soon before death swept them away.

Not knowing that the sight of any human would trigger their unquenchable thirst, the group of soldiers set off to the village to spend their last remaining hours in the arms of their family and loved ones. Unfortunately, by morning all the inhabitants were dead and without realizing it, Sage and his men had sealed their fate for eternity. They all would have been better off dead, rotting in the desert sun. Instead, they were bound by blood to a creature that became their tormentor. Their Mistress. Their Queen.

Sage stopped and closed his eyes. He reached out and placed a hand on the stonewall to steady himself. Still, after all these years, he could hear the screams of his wife as she watched him drain the life out of their infant son. The look of horror on her lovely face as he began to feed on her. And the disbelief in her warm brown eyes before her life faded away. After all these hundreds of years, he was still haunted by his sin.

Stomping down the memory Sage continued his trek. He'd been summoned. But why? It had to be of extreme importance; she never woke this early in the day, not without just cause. Lilith ruled the many covens of vampires from her throne. She rarely ventured forth. Sage couldn't remember the last time she'd been outside the walls of the castle. Centuries of experience, however, told him that whatever the reason it did not bode well for anyone. Sage was the general of the Queen's guard, but even he was not immune to her wraith. Lilith was a creature of exquisite beauty and extreme cruelty. She delighted in another's torment and pain.

Such as that night centuries ago when he begged her to kill him so that he could burn in hell for killing the ones he loved so dear. She just laughed at him and refused his request.

"You are mine, dear sweet Sage. You will do my bidding and if, and only if, you prove yourself loyal only to me, I will grant your wish and send you to the afterlife to be with your precious wife and child."

Of course, that never happened. No matter how many he killed at her command. No matter how many lives he destroyed in her name, she always said it was never enough to show his loyalty.

Even when he became her lover, she would whisper in his ear as he lost himself to her, "Do you really think your wife would want you now? Look at yourself. Do you think she could ever forgive such a beast? Blood taints your very soul. It blackens it. No one wants you but me."

So, after some time he gradually forgot his request. He buried the memory of his human life and all that shared it. Letting his soul become mired in lust, bloodthirst, and destruction Sage simply existed. He cared not for himself or for the many lives he'd taken over time. He dutifully waited for his turn when death itself would look favorably on him and end his miserable existence. Sage literally was a dead man walking.

The crash of pottery pulled Sage out of his thoughts and had him sprinting down the corridor. Within seconds he stood in the doorway of the throne room. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. The sight before him was certainly one for the books.

Aro on his knees and Lilith standing over him like the regal Queen she was.

"What do you mean she is gone? Where, exactly, did that little bitch go?!"