带着爱

───∙∘☽༓☾∘∙───

You find Jasper on the roof, crouched, unmoving, another one of the stone statues watching over your family’s home. 

The Cullen residence in Rochester, New York is more mansion than house. The beauty of the property’s roof in particular had caught Carlisle and Esme’s eyes. It was one of the few places in the state that had retained its old architecture. The roof, reminiscent of castles from Carlisle’s first lifetime, was lined with stone creatures of myth, warriors meant to stand guard and protect the inhabitants below. Your mate—a soldier in one of his past lives—had been quick to claim the roof as his place of solace. 

Though Jasper doesn’t turn to you as you find your way to him, the sudden rush of certainty, of razor sharp intention, tells you he’s using his ability to affirm your assumption that he needs you by his side. You maneuver your way across the roof slowly, but not carefully, giving your mate ample time to change his mind. 

“Whatever it is you think you’ve done, there’s no need to punish yourself for it,” you say, blunt and firm, as soon as you reach him. Jasper is a soldier through and through; sometimes, commands are the only way you can pierce the tension he wears like armour, the only thing that softens frozen muscles coiled in restraint. 

Jasper lifts his head, his honey-blond hair falling away from his face. There’s blood smeared across his lips and you think, human— when the scent of the black bear hits you. 

“You thought it, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, distant, but not accusatory. “You thought I slipped up, that I failed Carlisle and our family.” 

You know there’s no hiding your split second of doubt. Jasper is attuned to all emotion, yours most of all. You kneel next to him, tucking your legs under your body and yourself into his side. 

“You’d be forgiven even if you had,” you reply, still certain, always steady, “but you didn’t, and that’s the only thing that matters.” 

Jasper sighs, the sound worn and heavy with his decades of existence. A few moments, and then, in a voice meant only for your ears: “I miss it sometimes.” 

Venom rises in your throat at the thought of blood—the flow of it within your prey, its heat warming your frozen limbs, the thick, gushing red that gives you life…or at least, some measure of it. You miss it too. Not the kind you feed on, but the kind you and Jasper swore you’d never touch again. 

“You’re allowed to,” you breathe, the memory of human blood fresh and heady in your mind. “It’s in our nature to crave it, my love. It’s instinct, it’s survival.” 

“Is it?” Jasper grits his teeth and wraps his arms around his knees, caging himself in. Trapping the monster within, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Is it instinct that makes me walk a lady to her car because I want to watch the warmth rush to her cheeks? That causes me to frequent town so I can listen to the rush of blood as people move about? Is it survival when I stalk a lone hiker for miles, wishing they’d cut themselves open on the rocks so that if I lose control, I can pretend it wasn’t my fault?” 

“Yes, yes, and yes,” you answer. You tug his arm away from his face and tuck a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at you. 

Jasper’s eyes are the bright, beautiful gold of a recent and successful hunt. You wipe his mouth clean of the bloody residue, then gently press your lips to his. 

“You fought against instinct and survival,” you breathe against his lips, then move back so you can meet his gaze. “And you won.”

Your mate stays silent, his golden eyes holding your own. The vision of a predator, the gaze of a soldier, and the windows to the soul you’ve chosen to spend eternity with. 

“I know every day is a battle for you, Jas,” you say. Your eyes shift to the forests that border your property, thinking of your family hunting amongst the foliage. “That your history is different from your siblings, different from mine even, and we know that was already more violent than most. 

You’re afraid of these habits, these– these urges, but that’s because you don’t want to give into them. I know you don’t. You want to choose this lifestyle, this family. You want to choose me.” 

You reach for his hand and curl your fingers around his. Marble curving against stone, both of you made of diamonds in the late morning sun. 

“Are you sure you’re not the one that can read emotions, ma’am?” Jasper muses, as he squeezes your hand. He turns to you, his movements loose and graceful. Armour gone, the soldier finally relieved of duty—if only for the time being—because of your undying faith in him and his strength. 

You shrug. “I know you.”

Jasper lifts your hand to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles, his mouth still warm from his last meal. You fight the satisfied sigh that threatens to escape your lips at the sudden heat. 

It escapes anyway when he breathes your name against your skin and looks up at you through his lashes, slowly, reverently. 

“And I know that if it’s you I fight alongside of, there is no war I can lose,” Jasper murmurs, soft and certain, a soldier finally surrendering. 

“I don’t care if you lose,” you whisper, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “I just want you to keep fighting. I need you to.”