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 Twenty-One

Some time ago.

Time passes. Sometimes it feels like it's passing quickly, other times it's creeping slowly, like tar. After three days, the pain hits her with as much force as it did the moment the cross first burnt her flesh. The small piece of wood is still there, bound to her body. They're determined to make this last as long as possible.

On some level, she's aware of what is going on. She's aware of the agony in her shoulder, of the raw wounds at her wrists and ankles. The wound in her abdomen has almost healed, but it seems like nothing compared to the rest of her circumstances.

So focused on the pain, the events around her barely permeate her consciousness.

'Why are you doing this?'

'She's one of them.'

On the fourth day, she feels the cold. Her skin turns to ice, though part of her mind is insistent on the fact that there is nothing but the cold stone that she has lain on for every day before this one. Her body shivers violently, ropes burning against her skin. She cries out, and at first, no-one comes.

Then he comes.

***

It's the dead of the night when Rowan finds himself descending the stairs in darkness. Guards had been posted for the first two days, and then removed when it became evident that the vampire – Emeline ­– wasn't about to escape any time soon.

There are no other prisoners in this dungeon, the key to the only door hanging on a hook at the bottom of the staircase. He's been down here enough with his father to navigate without the use of any light source; he doesn't want anyone to discover his intentions.

The door swings open with a slight creak, and he winces, before realizing that there's no-one else – aside from Emeline – around to hear it.

He hears the soft whimper from across the room. The screams had been loud the first few hours; he could hear them, even from several buildings away. They'd died down quickly, but he has no doubt of the fact that she's still suffering.

Before her, he had only seen less than half a dozen blood-suckers, and all of them had only one motive. One of them had killed three villagers – including Rowan's mother – before being taken down. Part of him thinks that he should hate them all indiscriminately for this, but then part of him also thinks that this is definitely the right thing to do.

He kneels beside her, taking a moment to just look. If not for the shivering, he would have found himself assuming she was dead; her skin is pale, her body limp. He thinks she might crumble into dust should he even touch her. His hand brushes her cheek lightly. She's cold – freezing, almost, which he really should have expected. Cold-blooded, his father calls them.

He pulls the dagger from his belt, slicing through the length of rope that runs from her wrists to her ankles. Her body slumps, but she otherwise gives no reaction to this new freedom. The wrist and ankle bindings themselves prove a little more difficult; he makes the cuts carefully, trying not to break through the skin. The rope has already done enough damage, the friction leaving a red, bloody mess in its place.

She twitches slightly then, and Rowan takes a deep breath. 'Emeline,' he whispers, hoping to elicit a reaction. The reaction he receives is a soft, whimpering moan, and he feels as though her pain is reverberating through him. The bandage sticks slightly, as he unwraps it from her shoulder, and it's only when the cloth is pulled away altogether that he can see the result of the punishment his father had bestowed upon her.

The wound is ugly, to say the least. The flesh is cauterized, and the burn seems to ripple out across her upper chest. The cross itself seems stuck – embedded into her skin – but Rowan knows that if he leaves it there, she will be dead within a few days, at the latest. He levers it out with the tip of his blade, trying desperately to ignore the increasingly loud sounds of pain.

And then it's out.

Rowan breathes a sigh of relief as Emeline's body relaxes. She's not conscious yet, but he's prepared for that. He'd gone hunting earlier in the day, slitting the deer's throat, and draining its blood into his waterskin.

The first few drops spatter slightly, as many landing in the mouth as around it. It's a startling reaction. If she had been unresponsive before, she's active now, if not entirely conscious of it. Her back arches, and her eyes flicker, and she makes a sound that's part way between pain and confusion.

He lets his hand stroke her cheek again, whispering her name softly. 'It's okay. It's okay.'

But it's not okay, because he's all out of deer's blood, and she isn't even close to recovered yet. She needs to be out of town before sunrise, and that isn't going to happen, at this rate. If she's still here in the morning, then her life will be forfeit.

Human blood, he's been told, is much more potent. It's not the preferred solution, but it will get her out of here. He takes the knife and makes the cut along his forearm.

***

Something pierces the darkness.

Red.

Blood.

She drinks it in, feeling her body start to put itself back together, but it's not enough. It's not nearly enough. She's vaguely aware of her surroundings; of the dungeon, of the ropes that have just been cut from her wrists and ankles, and of the boy – the man – that's kneeling beside her, making a cut in his arm.

No.

It's wrong. Why is it wrong? She needs the blood, and yet part of her is desperately begging for him to stop, only she isn't quite up to articulating that point yet. The rich, wonderful smell of human blood hits her nostrils, and if she hadn't already been so frail, it would have sent her weak at the knees.

No!

She can't fathom why her mind would be so against this. The scent of it tickles her nostrils as it comes closer and closer, and she's livid right up to the point where the flesh touches her lips.

She drinks.

Her body reacts favorably, the weakness slowly falling away. She feels good. Very good. Better than she's felt in a long time. She keeps drinking, vaguely aware of the fact that the flesh is slipping from her reach. She grasps it firmly, drinking deeper still, before a sound breaks through the haze of her consciousness.

'Emeline! Emeline, you have to stop.'

Emeline. Is that her name?

The flesh screams, and in one sudden moment she realizes.

No. Oh, please, no.

She pulls away, even as the siren call of blood rings in her ears. She closes her eyes, tries to block it all out, tries to pull her mind together.

You're not like the others. You don't do this.

You are, and you always will be.

The world comes crashing back, and she's hyperaware of the blood that she can still taste on her tongue, of the cold stone floor, of the body of the young man that had only been trying to help her.

He's still alive. Barely. She can hear the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart, getting slower by the second. If she were to make an incision of her own – feed him some of her blood, he would survive, but she does not want to subject anyone else to this curse. Mortality is a small price to pay for humanity.

She sees the bag at his feet; all her belongings. She feels the tear come to the corner of her eye. Why did this happen? Why did she come here? She had only brought them grief. It seems to follow her around.

She pulls a shirt from the bag, wrapping it around Rowan's arm. The blood stains it quickly, and she tries to push away the temptation. It's a temporary solution, but she can't afford to stay longer than is necessary. She'll make a scene on her way out of town; one that ensures someone will come to check the cell. It's all she can do, save cursing him for the rest of eternity.

She'll ride until dawn, and wait out the day, then, by the light of the moon and the stars, she'll keep on riding, hoping to find somewhere to belong.