She heard the bells…Devil's chimes.

An evil, small tinkling that didn't belong in the pine-sharp air.

She tried to soar away from them. Upward. Outward. Anywhere-ward…

Boughs parted before her. Shards of light joined, promising one glorious white burn if she could only strive high enough; reach the top. Almost…almost… Needles and twigs scraped across and along her pumping muscles. Almost…almost…

Something jerked her back. Two-legged voices shouted below. She was falling.

And again, the Devil's bells…

…tiny and silver and attached to the jesses…

…that were tied to her leg…

XXXXXXXXXX

Emily Prentiss woke with a start, breath catching in her throat in rapid, lung-stopping gasps.

The dream was so close, she could feel the brush of feathers against her arms…the strum of muscles across her shoulders. Since childhood she'd dreamt of flying, coasting over neighborhoods in silent rapture of freedom and strength. But she hadn't had such a dream in a long while. Years, in fact.

She closed her eyes, curling her fingers into the crisp, unfamiliar hotel sheets, using the tactile contact to override the vertiginous sense of flight.

It's just a dream…just a dream. One corner of her lips quirked upward. Probably because of that damned fortuneteller last night. Next time we let someone besides Garcia plan the itinerary when we're grounded.

Common concerns like an ailing jet and the whereabouts of the rest of her team helped disperse the lingering shreds of fancy trailing from her fast-fading dream. Prentiss rolled over, glancing at the bedside clock, groaning when she realized it was nearly noon. In all fairness, though, they had been up late; until dawn, actually, as the old fortuneteller had decreed in lieu of payment for her readings. And the only one who might be better rested was Hotch, who'd dozed off right at their table.

Prentiss frowned. So unlike him. But the whole evening was weirder than Halloween in Greenwich Village…

She stretched an arm out toward the nightstand. Grasping her phone, she punched in the speed dial for the person whose finger was always on the pulse of things, and was most likely to know their aircraft's status. The call was picked up on the first ring.

"Morning, Emily."

"Hi, J. J., Are we going home today? Please say 'yes.'…"

The liaison's weighty sigh before answering didn't bode well. "Not sure."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the jet's gonna be ready, but…the weather…" J.J.'s voice trailed off, leaving Prentiss to draw the obvious conclusion when one was dealing with Seattle's quixotic skies and flying conditions.

"So we can't even charter a regular flight to get home? We're well and truly stuck?

"Well and truly." The regret in J.J.'s tone made Emily pull back on expressing her own disappointment. At least she didn't have a child waiting for his Mommy to walk through the door. Although her cat, Sergio, did an excellent job of making her feel guilty whenever his dinner was late.

"So I guess we're here for at least another night?"

" 'Fraid so. Sorry."

"Not your fault." Prentiss rolled onto her back and executed a luxurious stretch. "I guess there are worse things to endure, right? Besides, didn't Morgan mention yesterday that this place has world-class seafood on just about every corner?"

A smile shimmered over the connection. "I don't know about every corner, but…yeah…he mentioned that."

"Soooo…where is everyone? Have you talked to any of the others?"

"No. Probably just waking up like you, Em." There was an undeniable note of superiority in the reply that Prentiss just had to challenge.

"We stayed up until dawn. You didn't sleep in?"

"Couldn't. Had to call Henry. It's a deal we have. If I don't call him to say 'goodnight,' I'm honor-bound to call and say 'good morning.'"

Prentiss could hear pride and longing in her teammate's response. For a brief moment she envied J.J., but only for a moment. The tradeoff between having a family and having the freedom of being unattached were a foregone conclusion for Emily. She wasn't ready to give up the thrill of being answerable only to herself. Not yet.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever be ready, but then she'd think how wrong it would be to accept a situation like motherhood simply because society said 'it's time.' Prentiss took pride in listening to her own inner orchestra. And so far the tune being played was too wild and free to be shackled to anything domestic. J.J.'s continued conversation pulled her out of her musings about the joys and trials of being single.

"…even a couple more."

Prentiss pulled herself up, propping her back against the headboard. "What was that? I didn't catch it."

"I said…we could be stuck here more than a day. The weather's not looking good for the next few. Lots of fog and stagnant air currents, so it's not moving out."

Emily gave a gusty sigh. "Well, Mother Nature's being a bitch, I guess." Her tone brightened. "But I've never had time to be a tourist when we've been here before. I'd like a chance to look around." She vaulted out of bed, energy renewed at the prospect of exploring new venues. "I'm gonna go downstairs and see if they serve breakfast this late. Meet me?"

"Sure. Just let me touch bases with Hotch first."

"He's not gonna be too happy about being stranded."

"Tell me about it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The yelping was shrill, angry.

It made him cower and whine deep in the back of his throat, because he knew what would come next. Ears flattened, hackles rising, he fought the internal battle that made his life a torment.

Follow your instincts…resist…and you'll be beaten. Display obedience, bow to the two-legs' will and feel the ancient agony of denying who you are…what you are…LEADER! ALPHA! LEADER! PROTECT!

He couldn't stop; couldn't let the newcomer be whipped into submission.

PROTECT PACK MEMBER!

He felt his sinews pulling, muscles bunching. Unstoppable.

PROTECT!

He knew he'd be thrashed within an inch of his life, or maybe they'd decide to kill him outright this time. But the punishment didn't matter. He was alpha to the depth and breadth and center of his soul. He would lay down his life to keep the pup from harm…

ATTACK!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a heart-wrenching sound that tore through his chest and savaged his throat, Hotch yanked himself upright.

Shaking, he blinked in the darkened hotel room, struggling to bring himself back from…from…already it was fading. He couldn't see where or when or who.

But terror and fury roiled through him.

And he didn't know why.

Hotch turned his face into the crisp, unfamiliar pillow and tried to muffle the sob that was as inevitable as the dream that he'd thought he'd outgrown. It had plagued him in adolescence, but he'd thought it had departed his psyche for good.

It had been years since he'd had it.

As his breathing evened and his shuddering eased, he knew why it had returned.

That Godforsaken fortuneteller. Never again. Never again. Won't go back there.

But he wasn't sure if 'there' meant the occult, little parlor where an old woman had exposed something he couldn't accept…or that place in his dreams where leashes and chains and pain defined him.

All he could do was deny.

All he could do was refuse it; bury it deep, deep, deeper. And fight to the death if it tried to take him again.