The air was tense in Jasper's library. The dust and candle soot tickled Bella's throat as she stared at the man at the desk, who simply examined her in return.

"You would tell them," Bella stated flatly. "Who are you, Jasper?"

"Who am I? Elaborate on your question."

She sighed sharply. "How about an observation? You're one of them. Whatever governing system you have going on in your vampiric world—you're a part of it."

One of his hands snatched up a nearby pen and began twirling it in his fingers. "An unwilling participant."

Bella picked up her coffee mug and swallowed a mouthful of cold caffeine. "I don't know what that means. Tell me."

"Be specific about what you're asking."

The mug came down onto the side table with more force than she had intended. "Who is your governing body?"

"The Volturi," he answered easily. "A court that revolves around our three kings."

"The Volturi," she pronounced, the name harsh on her tongue. "European?"

"Italian," he elaborated. "Based in Volterra, Italy."

"And they rule the whole vampire world?"

"For the last three-thousand years."

Bella was pacing in front of his desk. "You mentioned three kings. Seems a little archaic for the modern world, don't you think?"

"Yes."

She glared at him, his directness suddenly infuriating. "So, what association do you have with the Volturi?"

"I have a contract with them."

"Like you do with the Cullens?"

"Similar, but different."

The reluctant manner in which he spoke told her he was dodging her question. Bella stepped closer to him, her hands splaying on his desk. He had been staring distantly at a small, ticking clock at the corner of the table, and now his attention shifted to her.

"You just told me I have eight months to live, Jasper. You can tell me more."

His red eyes were hard when he stared back at her. With him seated, and her looming over the desk, the power dynamic felt just a little different.

"What contract do you have with the Volturi?" She pressed.

His eyes left hers, trailed up to her hair, then down to her cheekbones, and then lips.

"You're very pale," he said slowly, his gaze now at her neck.

That was expected. He had just sentenced her to death. "Jasper."

His name brought his focus back to her face. "The Volturi sentenced me to two-hundred and fifty years of servitude."

Her shoulders immediately fell back at his words.

"I served them for forty-two years until Carlisle Cullen took over my contract."

Bella found that she couldn't move from her place. Her body seemed stuck, and her mouth felt uncomfortably dry. "Why were you sentenced? What law did you break?"

"The kings claimed that I'd broken our exposure law, and I was tried accordingly."

She stared down at her hands, beside all of his paperwork. "What did you do?"

"I was involved in some wars that drew too much attention. Human attention."

Wait. "Wars—vampire wars?"

"Correct. Territorial wars."

"Were you part of a coven?"

"I wouldn't call it much of a coven." He leaned back slightly. "It was an army created by one who wanted to take over the American South."

The entire American South? "That's… a lot of land."

"Yes it is," he murmured. "She wasn't successful. And, to my knowledge, she still roams free."

Bella pushed away from the desk, pressing her hands into each other. "It sounds like she should have been sentenced, if you were."

"She gave me up so she could run." He stared at a point beyond her. "I don't blame her. I would have done the same." And then, harsh eyes met hers. "What other questions do you have?"

"You said servitude, but I don't understand what that really means. What did you do for the Volturi?"

"Servitude, plainly, is the loss of freedom, Bella," he explained, vaguely hollow. "You don't have a choice in who you serve, what you do, or where you go. For the Volturi, I worked as part of their court. I dealt with everything from coven politics to the justice system. They valued my gift enough to not send me out to the field, which is typically what servitude means for the ungifted."

"The field?" Bella asked.

"The Volturi's dirty work. Hunting rogues, keeping an eye on covens, and punishing those that are out of line."

"Instead of that, you served directly in their court system?"

"I did," he confirmed. "My gift was useful for the trials, and my experience in the south gave them more insight into the territorial battles."

The concepts were so abstract to Bella that it wasn't easy to comprehend. "So, when did the Cullens come in?"

"Carlisle visits court on occasion. He's one of the higher standing coven leaders, despite his diet," he added, just a little mockingly. "He is an old friend to the kings, and he came looking for someone to serve his coven in the means of protection. The nomad problems have been increasing in the past century, and he wanted his coven to be well prepared against any territorial attacks." Jasper placed the pen down. "The Volturi indulged him with me."

Silence fell as Bella's eyes rested on his desk. A solemn air overtook the room when she finally looked at him. "You would tell the Volturi about me because you still indirectly serve them."

"Indirectly," he affirmed. "But more so, I would tell them because I won't risk anything that could extend my sentence."

He would play good with the law until he was free. "How long do you have left?"

"One hundred and fourteen years, Bella," he said heavily. And in that dim light, and with that tone, he seemed uncharacteristically tired. There was a weight to his body that held him down as he ran a hand over his jaw.

"That's an incomprehensible amount of time."

"Not for a vampire." His eyes scanned her again. "Use your next eight months wisely."

The reminder was like a slap in the face, so much so that she let herself collapse onto a nearby chair. Pure despair was what she was feeling, and she didn't care one bit if Jasper sensed it. If she hadn't felt so drained, she would have bawled right there in front of him. Shoulders hunched, she wanted to curl up into herself. Gifts, vampirism, immortality… it had all seemed like such a distant dream from the moment she had been welcomed into their fantastical world. Now, it all just felt like a nightmare.

Her eyes widened only slightly when Jasper was suddenly in front of her. She felt fingers on her chin as her head was tilted up, but her eyes refused to leave the carpet. Her face was guided to the right, and then to the left.

"Look at me," he said impatiently.

And when she did, his eyes narrowed, searching hers. "You're getting sick."

"I feel sick," she gritted out, batting his hand away. Jasper took a step back when she stood from her seat. Grabbing a hold of her backpack along with the empty mug and plate, she headed directly out of the library and began descending the main stairs.

She had anticipated Esme to pop out from the kitchen, but was grateful when she didn't see her. A sense of betrayal lingered beneath in her chest, and she didn't think she could take seeing a Cullen.

Jasper was there beside her when she placed the dishes in the sink. Her voice was cool, and borderline uncaring when she asked, "Esme left?"

"She did." He was staring out the front windows. "She couldn't bear to hear your reaction."


The next morning, Bella could barely get out of bed. The moment she had managed to drag herself to the kitchen, Charlie ordered her to march straight back up to her bedroom.

Jasper had been right. If the faint soreness in her throat and the chills meant anything, her health was on a quick decline.

After the very solemn and silent Uber ride home yesterday, Bella had felt mentally exhausted. Her dad hadn't been home to see her trudge through their living room and up the stairs, as if she were wading through thick, unforgiving water. Her steps had felt weighted, and each bout of exertion threatened to drag her to her knees.

Only once she had made it into her shower had she truly let the sobs take over. Wave after wave, the hopelessness hit her, along with the denial. It felt as if she had been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and reality hadn't quite set in. Crawling into bed that night, she had only wished for a quick and dreamless sleep.

Now, it was the afternoon, and she was still in bed. Her thoughts were incoherent with the throbbing headache that overtook her, along with a fever that was gradually getting worse.

Charlie came in with some contraption and set it on her bedside table. Bella soon recognized it as a humidifier. "Your mother always swore by these things." He set the setting to low and let the cool mist blow out into the room. "I was going to dig up her chicken noodle soup recipe, too, but Esme Cullen called, and—"

"No," Bella groaned, turning her head into one of her three gigantic pillows that were keeping her upright—for her congestion, her father had said.

"No? Bella, be kind. She's bringing over some soup. It'll be good for your throat."

She merely sighed, which induced a thick cough. "I'd be fine with some tea."

"What you need is a hot soup with nutrients. Take a nap. She'll be by soon."

Bella eventually woke to Esme walking into her room with a large tray. Kicking the door closed behind her, she smiled at her warmly. "Hi, Bella."

Bella hadn't had the energy to even protest her presence. Rising up to a seated position, she leaned against her pillows. "Esme."

She scooted closer to the edge of her bed so Esme could place the tray on a section of the mattress. She could feel the heat of the soup as the warmth seeped through the sheets, next to her legs. "Did Alice tell you I was sick?"

"No," Esme told her. "Jasper mentioned you appeared ill, and I immediately got to work."

She scowled inwardly. "He's very observant."

"That he is." Esme scooted the tray closer to her. "I used actual chicken broth—it's supposed to be better for you."

"Great."

But Bella didn't make any moves to begin eating. She merely watched the steam as it danced out of the bowl, little bits of macaroni bobbing up.

Esme sat at the corner of the bed. The smile on her face thinned, and the glee vanished quickly. "I know you don't want to see me, Bella. But, I…" Her words faltered, as if it was hard for her to find the right ones.

But Bella suddenly wanted her to find the right ones, her tone challenging as she asked, "Why do you think I don't want to see you, Esme?"

Esme's mouth opened and closed a few times before she pressed her hands together on her lap. Hesitantly, as if she was also convincing herself, she said, "Edward will be good to you. He is a good boy, Bella. He will take care of you, protect you, and give you a home. I know how much he loves you."

Bella couldn't give a damn about love. The headache pounded at her relentlessly, and she couldn't tell whether the tears were from the frustrating pain, or the words that came out next.

"I don't want to die," she whispered brokenly, her throat dry, and hurting.

When Esme took the napkin on the tray and reached out towards her to dab at the tears, Bella flinched away. "Tell me this is wrong." She searched her golden eyes that were so filled with sorrow. "Tell me you don't want to kill me. Please." Bella reached out to grab her hand, a pillow tumbling down to the ground from behind her. "Tell me this is a mistake. Tell me Jasper is wrong."

With pursed lips that failed to hide her dismay, Esme said quietly, "It's the law."

"It's my life." Bella's eyes were pleading, her voice hoarse with emotion and sickness. "I have a father, and a mother, and a future. You must understand. Please."

"I understand that hope makes it harder." Esme's eyes were downcast. "I didn't have that. One moment, I was dying, and the next, I wasn't. I didn't even know what a vampire was until I became one. There wasn't much of a… choice."

"Jasper says that I don't have a choice."

Esme went back to staring at the tray. It seemed hard for her to look at Bella. "Edward should have told you all of this, not Jasper. My boy doesn't believe you should have to give up your humanity. He disagrees fundamentally with it all."

The feeling of relief was foolish, and to associate it with Edward Cullen was stupidity. "He told me that he wants me to remain human. He insisted, even when I asked him about changing. He doesn't want me to become a—"

"Don't." Esme caught her tone, and tempered it. "Do not speak like this in front of Carlisle. Please. Edward upsets him with it, and it's not good for us." Her voice remained stiff; it was such an unusual tone to associate with Esme Cullen. "And you need to speak with Edward. You need to convince him that this is what you want." With a steady hand, Esme reached out and kindly touched Bella's cheek. But she drew back sharply at the heat that emanated from her—the fever strong, and unrelenting.

"You should rest," she said, suddenly not sure what to do with her hand.

No matter the delirium that threatened to descend on her, Bella stood her ground. "I don't want this. I'm not convincing Edward of anything."

"You are the only one who can," she said sadly. "It's easier, and less painful this way, Bella. Don't you see?"

"No, I don't see." Her bottom lip wobbled, and her emotions suddenly felt out of control. "Please, Esme—"

Esme only nudged the tray closer. "Drink this while it's hot, okay? I brought a whole pot, and it's in the fridge."

Bella clawed at her flawless, porcelain hands when she could sense that she was about to leave. "Don't do this. I don't want to die."

"Yes, you do," she said, her eyes glossy. "Tell yourself that, and everything will be perfect."

And then, Esme vanished. Her vampiric speed was unexpected, and it was the first time, Bella realized, that she had seen her use it.


Night descended, but her temperature remained on the climb. The shivers were now persistent, the tremors in her body not letting her rest. Charlie came in occasionally to measure her temperature. It wasn't yet at a level that required a trip to the hospital.

"We'll keep an eye on it," he told her as he placed a fresh mug of honeyed tea by her bed. "Maybe you should go take a cold shower, kiddo. It would be good for your fever."

Bella shook her head forcefully. There wasn't a chance she was leaving her bed.

Charlie sighed, relenting. "If it doesn't break by morning, we can see about the doctor."

Bella nodded against her pillows, burying herself deeper beneath the three fluffy blankets. Her thoughts roamed wild and free amidst the fever—because nothing mattered more than her body burning her up to kill whatever infection had invaded her defenses. She fell in and out of sleep, waking to harsh coughs that rattled her brain.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was around midnight, and the house was quiet.

Shivering, she pushed herself up and winced through a few forceful coughs. Her phone buzzed beside the empty cup of tea at her bedside, the light from the screen annoyingly bright.

She had a few texts from some girls in her class, but the most recent message was from Jasper.

Let me know when you're awake.

She fell back on the bed, groaning at the way her head pounded at the impact. She typed out a reply quickly, You were right. I'm sick. Very sick.

Barely five minutes went by before a knock came on her window.

"It's open," she mumbled into her blanket, and then heard the window slide open. The cool breeze it brought in was absolutely unacceptable.

"Close it. Please," she breathed, feeling the tremors come back with full force.

The slam of the window echoed throughout the room, and the sound exasperated her headache. Her eyes had been closed against the shivers and aches, but now she peeped them open to see the one vampire that—somehow—didn't instantly activate her fight-or-flight response.

"Hello, Jasper."

"You're ill."

"You don't have to gloat." She couldn't see him that well in the darkness of her room, but she could sense him doing just that. "If you're smiling, you're a jerk."

"I'm not smiling." Then why could she hear it in his voice? And then, his tone dipped. "You don't look too well, Bella."

"I don't feel too well, either."

Her fever was not going to get better soon. In fact, it was probably going to get worse.

He sat on the side of her bed, and Bella felt a cool hand on her forehead. Her face scrunched up and she tried to get away. Cold. Way too cold.

"Stay still."

But she was freezing.

"Bella."

She did her best to fight off his hand, but the energy she exerted only made her head pound more. "You need to go sit in a fire or something," she grumbled.

"You're burning."

"It's called a fever."

He placed his hands on her face, but Bella tried to stick her head back under the blanket to get away.

"Let me feel," he murmured, his hands trailing down to her throat. "Swollen."

She jerked away from him, squeezing her eyes shut. "I could have told you that."

But he pulled her back towards him. His fingers found her skin again, this time rising back up to her cheeks. He tapped below an eye, right on her cheekbone. "Open."

She opened her eyes and glared directly at him. "You're cold, and I want to sleep."

He stared into her eyes, eyebrows pinched together. "You're right. I am cold."

She didn't even have the time to react when the blankets were peeled away from her, and then replaced. But now, she was ice.

"Oh my god," she breathed, as she felt Jasper's freezing body beside her. One of his hands was plastered on her forehead as her teeth chattered.

"A few more degrees, and your fever will cross into the life-threatening range," he explained lowly, scooting closer.

"This is your solution?" She groaned between bouts of shivers. "God, you're a glacier."

He sighed. "Turn around, Bella."

Her bones aching, she somehow managed to do just that.

Jasper pressed against her; his rough jeans against her soft leggings, and his hard chest against her back. An arm naturally snaked between her and the blankets, resting lightly over her waist. It felt just a little embarrassing to be shivering against Jasper Whitlock. But even realizing that added a new level of embarrassment.

"There's no reason for you to feel that way," he murmured, his breath on her ear.

Her eyes were wide as could be. "It's just a little… odd."

"Is it?"

"You drink my blood, so I guess there are weirder things," she mumbled. "Oh, and speaking of, I don't think I can afford to give you blood right now, if that's why you're here." She trembled, shifting to look back at him. "You should come back in a few business days."

He was on one elbow, watching her. "Noted."

She nestled back into him, unconsciously searching for some heat. "I'm surprised Edward didn't come."

Jasper was quiet for a moment before telling her, "He sent Esme instead. Edward doesn't do well with sickness."

"Oh. Right. The Spanish Influenza." Bella considered, her thoughts hazy. "That must have been hard… almost a century ago. No good medicine, or healthcare. So many dead."

"Pandemics and wars," Jasper said. "Humanity's biggest killers."

"Still," Bella said. "For a man who claims to love me, I'd still expect him to pop in, you know? He doesn't have to come too close."

Jasper's voice was a soft whisper in the dark. "Edward Cullen doesn't love you, Bella."

His words settled into her brain, but only vaguely. "I'm dying for a man who doesn't even love me? How depressing."

"It's interesting to me how your emotions remain stable. Your fever calms their irregularity."

"That's because my fever doesn't care about Edward Cullen; he's not some virus it can smoke out." And then, she grinned. "But wouldn't that be funny? If I could rack up a fever and burn him to a crisp?"

"Pyromancy. I know a few gifted like that."

Bella frowned. "An offensive gift sounds useful."

"Give yourself some more credit," he told her, and Bella shivered at the way his breath ghosted over her neck. Or perhaps it was just the fever. "One day, you could block a pyromancer with your defensive shield. You could even block me."

She twisted her head back to him, her voice filled with awe. "Really?"

"I've told you this. Shields come in pairs: mental, and physical."

Bella stared back at her bedroom wall, a mysterious edge creeping up in her tone. "That sounds… useful."

"You'd like to hide from me, is that it?"

"Your gift is invasive. If I'm embarrassed, I should be able to hide it."

"But your human tells give you away." The arm that he had thrown over her waist receded, and then she felt a few of his fingers against her hair, lodging some strands behind her ear. "I look for your blush before I have to resort to your emotions." A wondrous tone. "But now, you're sick and pale enough that you might as well be dead."

"My body is prioritizing more important things than blushing, Jasper," she said annoyedly, but she didn't shrug away his touch, which was once so cold and unforgiving. Now, the gentle rhythm against her hair felt soothing.

Eventually, his fingers stopped, and the same hand found her forehead, lingering and feeling.

"How is it?" She asked.

"Better."

When he moved to pull away, Bella grabbed his hand and kept it there, pressing his palm more firmly against her brow. "That feels so good. My headache is terrible."

Bella felt a low chuckle behind her. "Ice pack, hm?"

"If I think of you as a mobile ice pack, you're less scary." Then, she flipped towards him, pressing her head against his chest, letting his body steal away her warmth, and cool her temple. "You smell like pine trees. Ice pack and air freshener all in one."

She felt an uncertain, hesitant arm wrap around her, pulling her tighter against him, securing her head against his chest. Sleep was a slow, languid blanket that began to drape over her. But before she was covered entirely, she whispered to him, "I'm sorry you have to serve the Cullens."

It took Jasper a moment to respond. "It's better than the alternative."

"Is it?" She asked tiredly, mumbling out, "You're still a prisoner for a hundred-or-so years."

Her body gave out, and Jasper held her until the shivers subsided to occasional tremors. She didn't feel when he put his hand on her forehead, feeling for a fever. She didn't feel his fingers glide over her throat to gauge the severity of the swelling. She didn't feel him press closer, tucking her head beneath his neck to cool her skin.

And she didn't hear him when he whispered solemnly, "A hundred and fourteen years." It was a long while before he added, "And you'll serve them for much, much longer."


A/N: This chapter: Servitude, fevers, and just a dash of hopelessness.


A little taste for what's coming up:

"Jasper will help you." Carlisle stood, effectively making the decision. "In fact, I insist. I think this is a brilliant idea."


Merry Christmas & happy holidays.

See you next year.