Jasper Whitlock stood on the edge of the Montana wilderness, dusk casting bruised purples across the sky, a match trembling between his fingers. The fire he’d prepared was meant to end it all—gasoline, dry timber, the cleansing agony of flame. But as he struck the match, the wind shifted. A cold breeze, unnatural in its silence, swept through the clearing and extinguished the flame before it could burn. Then he saw it. A single cream-colored envelope resting on the stone beside his belongings—one he hadn’t placed there. It bore no insignia, only a wax seal and his name written in deep blue ink: Major Jasper Whitlock. He reached for it with hands that hadn’t trembled since his human days. Its scent—wildflower honey and rain-soaked earth—was impossible, intoxicating. Inside: “Find me. Help me. When all is darkness, I will be your light.” Signed, Bella Swan. And everything changed.

Jasper moved to a fallen log and gestured for her to join him. She hesitated only briefly before sitting, leaving space between them. Not because she feared him—but because she knew he respected her boundaries. To her surprise, he slid marginally closer.
“You know,” he said softly, “in my time, weddings were small affairs. Family, a few close friends. The ceremony itself lasted ten minutes.”
“That sounds perfect,” Bella sighed, hugging her knees.
“I take it that’s not what Edward and Alice have planned.”
She huffed a laugh. “Five hundred guests. A cathedral. A dress with a ten-foot train.”
Jasper was quiet for a beat. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Like I’m a prop in my own wedding,” she said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her, gaze intense. “Then maybe it’s time someone reminded you that you have a voice.”