Disclaimer: The Twilight series and any characters appearing in said series belong to Stephenie Meyer. She is, however, sweet enough to allow us to play with them.

This was my second entry for the Valentine's Day Romance Contest on the Bella Penombra forum, so it was written before Jasper's past was revealed in Eclipse. Therefore, some conflicts with the canon story will most likely be present.

Basic rules you'll need to be aware of:

1. All entries must be Twilight or New Moon one-shots about a romance other than Bella/Edward. ((NOTE: You can mix Bella or Edward with someone else if you like, just not the two together.)) Also remember that the entries do not have to be exclusively romance.

2. The minimum word count is 1,000. The maximum word count is 3,000.

Death Does Not Become Her
A Study of Unlikely Lovers from the Point of View of Jasper Whitlock

Death could not touch her.

From the moment she found me - for she had made it quite clear that we had not "met" - I found her entrancing in her life and spirit. I could swear that, in the moonlight, I could see her soft face turn slightly rosy when we touched. I would give my immortality to say that I heard her heart pulse for me when her gold eyes glanced my way.

She was gentle. She was soft. She was warm.

She was life.

Death could not touch her and I would not let it. Neither would I allow her to become the monster I was. Never would she desire the hunt of humans and never would the bittersweet life flow through her lips. For as long as she would allow me, I would stay by her side and protect her from that, just as she tried to protect me from what I had already succumbed to.

At first I wondered about her. She was very demanding of me, and I could have easily manipulated her into feeling hatred toward me or, indeed, nothing at all. At first, I considered the thought that I felt most paternal to her. She did not know anything of her past and she was a lonely vampire, and I felt it was my duty to teach her. She was tiny, like a child, and slender, like a dancer. She reminded me somewhat of the pixies in the mortal fairy tales, magical and innocent.

I needed to teach her that she was no longer innocent, though she had experienced decades of this on her own. How she had been able to retain her lucid nature was beyond my comprehension.

I soon discovered that it was not I who stayed with her, but she who stayed with me. I had grown dependent on her without ever realizing it in our short time together. I recall when I came to this conclusion vividly: we had been passing through a town, full on our preferred sources of blood, and, although I was no longer thirsty, I came quite close to feasting on a particularly sweet-smelling young woman. My fairy immediately went stock-still, eyes wide and unseeing as she saw. When she came to herself, she looked at me with a small frown, then slipped her arm through mine, holding me fast to her side.

"I can't believe you find the scent of some human more pleasant than my company," she sniffed. I was about to snap a comeback at her when her eyes caught mine and she smiled teasingly. I couldn't help myself and emitted a strangled sound from the back of my throat, which I was sure was supposed to be a laugh.

Her happiness was tangible as she continued to speak, drawing laughter from me as we passed through the town without any action of consequence. I was enjoying myself. I had someone who wanted me to stay with her. That was the moment I realized I needed her.

Death could not touch her and I would not let it.

After all, how could I live without her?

I had heard many things concerning the complexities of women in my years. I had never experienced them as my special talents gave me insight and told me exactly what a woman was feeling. Never why, of course, but why should I have cared why when it didn't matter or when I could simply change their emotions for them? Her emotions never confused me. When I sensed complete and undying devotion, I didn't question it. When I found love lurking in her emotions, I didn't wonder why. When her actions began to mirror those emotions, I wasn't confused. What confused me were my own actions and my own emotions.

She had been trying to wean me off of humans and onto animals. I had no objections (after all, the merciless bloodshed was also taking its toll on her) and, so, we often took paths that went through small towns in order for me to build up my resistance. In one of these towns, some brave and bold child plucked up the audacity to present my companion with a single rose. I found myself scowling at him over the woman's shoulder, earning the thrill of his terror washing over me. He may have actually squeaked in fear, the pansy.

He'd never approached her again, and I felt quite pleased with myself. I did not know why I felt this way or why I thought it necessary to frighten the love-struck human.

It took me longer than it should have to figure out that the love I felt was not constantly being sensed from my pixie. I did not allow her to take my meals and replace them with animals simply because I wanted her to stay with me. I did not bring her roses simply because I had seen the appreciation dancing in her eyes when the human had given her his. Buying her beautiful things made her happy, so I allowed her, but not simply because she asked.

I finally came to realize I did these things because I was in love with her. Yes, I wanted her to stay; yes, I saw the happiness; yes, I did things because she asked me to. Those reasons, however, were not my true motivators. I wanted to do these things to show that I loved her and to keep her loving me. These actions, however, were not enough for either of us.

I didn't care anymore about Death. I was Death, a demon in love with a fallen angel and I didn't care anymore. I was hers and I would change. Perhaps, in time, I could earn the right to hold her, touch her, love her, once the lingering identity of Death was washed from me.

I wanted her to know that I could change for her, so Death could never touch her.

I had decided. Tonight, I would let her know that I loved her as much as I knew she loved me. I would tell her that I would never leave unless by her own request. I would follow wherever she chose to lead me. I could learn to live off of the blood of animals…I would learn. I wanted her to know that I would do anything to keep her with me, to keep her loving me.

"Jasper," her chime-like voice sang out. I looked back to where she stood. My beautiful Alice had stopped some few steps back from me, that peculiar look in her eyes as she saw what would come to be. I went toward her, but stopped when her eyes of gold pinned me in my place. She completed the journey herself, watching me and smiling. Her arms wrapped around me, her head rested softly against my chest, and then she whispered the sweetest words known to my century-old ears:

"I know."

Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?- Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

Winner:

- 2nd Place

- The Romeo Award (Best Romance)