Title: Power Play
Rating: R
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Universe: Creatures of the Night (Part 1)
Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss; JJ/Hotch
Genre: Supernatural/Drama
Summary: Tensions are running high when a vampire joins the BAU, but all differences must be put aside as the team investigate a series of suspicious werewolf murders. AU.
Author's Notes: Betaed by Windy City Dreamer.
Chapter Eighteen
Some time ago.
It is just before sunset when she finds herself riding into the village, the series of spell-bands on her upper arm the only things that are stopping the townspeople from outing her as a bloodsucker and burning her at the stake. They were strong spells once, put there by her father. It's been six months since his death, though, and her skills are nowhere near as great. The bands will disappear, if met with any opposing magic of greater force, and she's hoping fervently that if it ever does happen, it will happen at night.
Right now, she is, for all intents and purposes, human.
It's not as though there are many sorcerers to be found in these parts, anyway. Most of those with any magical ability tend to prefer the larger cities, where it's much easier to become anonymous. There's rarely more than one or two witches or wizards in a town like this, and they're rarely anyone of great power. Some villagers distrust magic, but they'll take it over a murderous creature any day. They've had magic in one form or another since before the fall. Vampires and shapeshifters are still, in their eyes, ruthless beasts.
She dismounts her horse at the village inn, the roughly painted wooden sign proclaiming it to be the "Vampyr's Fang." For a superstitious bunch, they sure seem to like their cliché names. There aren't any other inns in town though, so she unstraps her sword and slips it into the saddle-bag. She still has the dagger in her boot, and two vials of holy water in a pouch on her belt. It's not enough to defend herself completely, but it's enough to cause a distraction.
'Good boy,' she whispers to the horse – a young stallion by the name of Forthwind, bequeathed to her by her father. The spell band tattooed on the dark animal's leg will prevent any sticky-fingered individuals from helping themselves to her possessions.
Several of the inn patrons look up as she enters. After the Fall, it's not so unusual to see armor-clad strangers wandering the lands, but that doesn't stop them from being curious. She's wearing light leather armor atop her clothes, which is paltry compared to some of the full plate that some adventurers wear.
'What can I get you?' the man behind the bar asks, eying her curiously. She's willing to bet that he's seen far stranger people, but it probably doesn't stop him from wondering.
'Hydromel,' she says, and then, after a moment's consideration, adds, 'and the beef stew.' She's not particularly hungry for human food – she'd drank some deer's blood on the journey – but anyone paying any amount of attention will be suspicious if a weary traveler turns up their nose at food after a long day's journey.
She hands him half a dozen coins from the pouch on her belt, still leaving a considerable amount for later use. He gives her a grunt of thanks as she retreats to the far corner of the inn.
Most of the patrons give her a wide berth, save for one. He's young – barely even a man. She puts him at around nineteen, if a day. There's a short silence as he sits across from her.
'What do you want?' she asks, trying to sound as annoyed as possible. What she really wants is some form of human contact, but at the same time, she doesn't want to risk anyone's life. That's the price she pays for immortality.
'You look lonely,' he says, shrugging, but already she knows that it isn't the truth. He can't see her loneliness, he feels it. He's an empath and he doesn't even know it. 'My name is Rowan,' he says, holding out a hand. He gestures to the opposite corner of the room, where a man is staring at them. 'My father's the constable of this village.'
A sorcerer. She can't tell how strong he is, but she'll have to be careful around him nonetheless.
'Emeline,' she reveals, shaking his hand. He has smooth skin. Skin that hasn't seen suffering, or death, or any of those other horrors that the world has taken great pains to provide them. She envies his innocence.
'You're from France?' he asks, referring, she thinks, to the etymology of her name.
'My father,' she replies distantly, her mind instantly going to the man that had been torn from her life so abruptly. The name means "rival", he had once told her, and it's true in a way. She's a rival to her own people, the same as her father. They had killed him.
She wonders how long it will be before they kill her too.