Author's Note: Okay, I'm going to be completely honest. I have no earthly idea what inspired me - or what possessed me, really - to write this. But God, I am so happy something did, because this has got to be in my list of top five favorite stories I've ever written. I had way too much fun writing it; I think that's obvious enough by how lengthy it became. ;) I promise this will be worth your time, though. You're going to love it; I just know it!

Anyway, as always, thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

He almost didn't see her. And later, he was going to regret that he had.

Hotch had been slowly cruising down the rain-slickened road when a slight movement in the dark of night caught his eye. For as long as he could remember, Hotch had always been the hyper-vigilant type; especially after Foyet. But this time, now...something caused him to lower his guard.

The movement he had seen had been that of a woman. As he pulled over to the side of the road, Hotch watched as the woman pulled her dark coat tighter around her slender, shaking frame. Even in the darkness, he could tell she was beautiful; pale skin that seemed almost luminescent in the moonlight, large doe eyes, full lips.

He waited until she came closer before rolling down his window and calling out to her. "Excuse me, ma'am? Are you alright?"

"I'm -" Her voice broke. "I'm fine, yes." Go away, Hotch, a voice in the back of her mind said. Drive away; please don't recognize me. Her eyes flashed with something like desperation. And hunger. I don't want to do this.

Not to you.

"Are you sure?" Hotch frowned. He knew he shouldn't, but she seemed so familiar... "If you're out there for too long, you'll get sick. I can...give you a ride, if you want."

No, no, no... "I, uh, don't really know where I'm going -"

Hotch's eyes widened as the woman leaned the tiniest bit closer; and he caught sight of her face for the first time that night. He fumbled to turn on the overhead car light. He had been right; this was no ordinary hitchhiker. "Emily?"

Oh, God. Sighing inaudibly, Emily expertly feigned an expression of pure surprise. "Hotch? Oh, wow, of all the people I could run into," she said gratefully.

"Come in, come in," he said immediately, unlocking the passenger side door to let her inside the warm car. She gave him a tired smile before climbing in and buckling herself in. "Emily, what were you doing outside this late? It's not safe."

And now, you're not safe either. "I went for a jog to clear my mind," she lied smoothly. "The next thing I knew, I had wandered so far away and it was already night. The more I tried to find my way back, the more lost I became."

His eyebrows still knitted together in concern, Hotch turned his heater on high and directed the vents toward Emily. "What about your cell phone? Did you call anyone to come help you?"

Emily closed her eyes as Hotch continued down the road. "Battery's dead." She didn't have to look out of the window to know that they were going to wrong way. The beginnings of a headache began pounding behind her eyes. "It would be a huge favor if you could drop me off at my apartment." For your sake. Listen to me and don't object.

But Hotch was Hotch, and would hear nothing of it. "We're almost at my place," he protested. "At least stay for an hour or two, to warm up, get into dry clothes. When you're ready, then I'll drive you back. Okay?"

Emily bit her lip hard, but wasn't the least bit surprised when she didn't taste the familiar metallic tang of blood. Her teeth were especially sharp today; she was especially hungry today. And being confined in a small space with her newly heightened senses and a man that smelled so utterly delicious...well, he wasn't making her hunger any easier to deal with.

She reckoned she had put it off for long enough. It had been a while since she'd last had a human. And her last, Liam, hadn't been that good anyway. She'd never been a big fan of the Irish.

But Hotch?

Oh, she could taste his sweet blood already. It was calling out to her; begging her to wrap her slender hand around his neck, lower her lips to his pulse point in an almost-kiss, and -

Emily jolted herself to the present, glad Hotch couldn't see the lust in her now-dilated eyes or the devilish hint to her seemingly complacent smile. She had wanted to spare him, she really had. In another life, she had loved him so very much. But Fate had other plans, apparently. And who was she to deny Fate her chance at some fun?

"You're a good man, Aaron," Emily murmured.

Aaron? He smiled a little; he could get used to hearing her call him that. "I try," he said with a modest shrug.

Emily dropped her voice to a whisper that was drowned out by the whirring of the car's heater. "And sometimes, you try too hard."

~.~.~

Dressed in one of Hotch's spare black tee-shirts tied over black-and-green plaid flannel pajamas that were at least two sizes too big for her, Emily joined her unlucky host on a couch in the main room, her eyes sharp and glinting in the dim light as she drank him in. A hint of a shadow danced across his jaw, his hands curled around a thin-necked bottle of beer, his gaze on her and her only as she came to sit beside him. Emily didn't need a heart to know she was going to hate feeling the life leave his body...especially after everything he had survived.

Or was she? At the same time, Emily's hunger was growing with every second that passed. She could hear his heartbeat resounding in the cave of his built, strong chest. She wondered how it would sound as he was seconds away from death. Wild, she supposed. He would be a fighter.

He would be so much fun.

One taste of him wouldn't be enough, she knew that much. With his lifeblood mixed with hers, she would be able to abstain from humans for several years. He would be that good. Emily was sure of it.

"You found clothes that fit," Hotch rumbled from her left. He sounded pleased.

"I did," she said with a nod, resting her head back, so close to his shoulder.

"I'm glad." Turning to face her, he extended his beer in offering. "I have wine in one of the kitchen cabinets, if that's what you'd prefer."

"Hotch...Aaron." He leaned just the slightest bit closer to her as she spoke his given name; he was already rapidly falling under her spell. "I'm fine. You've done more than enough for me."

Hotch brushed it away with a flick of his wrist. "I'm just glad you're okay." Something in her expression shifted; and, skilled profiler that he was, Hotch noticed it. "You are okay, right? You look...I don't know. Different," he sighed.

"I'll be more than okay soon enough," Emily answered vaguely. And it was the truth. Eventually, she, too, leaned forward - just a hairsbreadth. "I just...don't know how to make this up to you." Internally, she cursed her voice for sounding so breathless, so...sultry.

"You don't have to do anything but take care of yourself, Emily." For the life of him, Hotch couldn't understand why he did it, but without thinking, he reached out to touch a strand of Emily's silky hair, still damp from the rain. "Do you want a towel for your hair?" When she didn't answer, he made to stand up and get one...

...but Emily's vice-like grip on his wrist stopped him. He sat back down, disarmed by her more than beautiful smile.

"Really, I'm fine," she said again. "You don't have to go out of your way to appease me." Hotch would have protested, saying something like the bathroom was not even close to 'out of his way'...but a press of gentle, full lips to his shadowy cheek caught him off guard. "Thank you," she murmured against his skin.

Hotch didn't know what to think. He felt like he was having an out of body experience; he felt like a completely different person. What does all this mean? he asked himself. It was old news that he had feelings for his brunette agent. They worked together seamlessly in the field, falling into step beside one another with no effort whatsoever. She had a biting sense of humor and a mysterious beauty...and when she had recently taken a couple weeks' sabbatical after apprehending Doyle, Hotch found that he had never missed anyone more than he had missed her.

And now, she was kissing his cheek, calling him Aaron, leaning against his side...to anyone else, these would be minute happenings that meant nothing. But in relation to the enigma that was Emily Prentiss? This was scarily important.

Or at least, he felt that way.

A touch of a smile hinting at his lips, Hotch moved to kiss her cheek as well. And he would have done just that, if Emily hadn't turned her head at the very last moment, bringing his lips in line with hers. Surprised and thinking he had done something wrong, that it hadn't been Emily who had initiated the kiss, Hotch pulled away slightly, his cloudy eyes peering into hers.

Emily gave him a moment to rearrange his thoughts before her lips were back on his. This time, Hotch was an active participant in the embrace; pulling her closer, tangling his fingers in her hair, caressing her cupid's bow with his tongue, taking her bottom lip hostage between his teeth. Emily knew this needed to happen before she could make her move, the move - but it still killed her inside. The fact that this wasn't real, the fact that it was a different kind of foreplay and not the one she had longed for in a different life.

Panting, the lust threatening to overwhelm her entirely, Emily forced herself back, tearing her lips from his when it was the last thing she wanted to do. "I'm sorry," she said, perfectly feigning sheepishness. "I don't know what...overcame me."

But Hotch was so blissfully oblivious. "Neither do I," he muttered, and within a single heartbeat, he had pulled her back into the kiss. This time, his lips didn't stay stationary; rather, he dropped them to her collarbone, then up to her sweet neck.

Emily moaned as he continued mouthing at her neck relentlessly. Oh, how she wanted to do the very same thing to him right this very moment; but she would have to wait. There would be a better time. "Hotch," she gasped out, as he nibbled on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

"Aaron," he corrected in an endearing rasp. "Not Hotch."

So he's gotten used to it already, Emily noticed amusedly. Good. Maybe I'll let him make me scream his name. But just once. Then I'll have my taste...then he'll be the one screaming.

Again, Emily let out a little whimpering moan that was in such stark contrast to the actions she had been contemplating mere seconds earlier. She closed her eyes, succumbing to the feel of his large hands swallowing up her hips, splaying across her back, hinting at the hemline of the flannel pajamas.

Despite the distraction the medley of sensations should have given her, something niggled to the front of Emily's thoughts. She paused her frenzied assault to his now delightfully swollen lips. "Where's Jack?" she panted.

"At his grandparents' house for the week. We have the place all to ourselves," he said appealing, knowingly answering the question he had seen reflected in her darker-than-usual eyes.

"Good," Emily managed briefly. And in a second, they were back at it, that passionate, explosive, too good to be true tango of limbs and tongues that only lovers knew. Emily was clad in only a black lace bra and panties, Hotch half naked with his face in Emily's hair, when he let out a gut-wrenching groan. His fingers quivered as they ghosted along Emily's spine, coming to rest on the only hook keeping him from her perfect breasts.

And he turned away.

"We can't do this," he rasped into her ear, the weight of his actions catching up with him. "Emily, we can't do this."

Yes, we can! she wanted to yell. It took all her might to keep a feral growl from breaking free. You can't back out now. It's too late. Emily coyly draped her body over his. "I know what you mean," she conceded, "what with the job and all. But..." she ran a slender finger along the length of Hotch's jaw, and it was then that he noticed her nails were uncharacteristically sharp. "Technically, I'm still on sabbatical."

It was like Hotch couldn't hear her. "We can't...but God, I want to." His hands moved from her hips to her waist, all the way up to the swell of her breasts. "Tell me you want this," he said hoarsely, and before she could answer, he dropped his lips to a crude shamrock-shaped scar he found there.

Emily's eyes flashed open, inhumanly sharp memories of the only other man to press his lips there coursing hotly through her very soul - though she wasn't exactly sure she still had one. "I want this," she drawled thickly. "Oh, Aaron, I don't think you know how much I want this."

Her hunger ratcheted higher.

"Why don't you show me?" His voice resounded throughout her entire body. "Show me, Emily, for just one night."

Emily smiled wickedly. The lust he was feeling...it was transforming him into another person entirely, a baser person. She quite liked it. "Yes...one night," Emily agreed. "Only one night. Because nothing will matter after this."

Hotch wanted to ask her what she meant, but he soon found much more pressing matters at hand; matters such as Emily's bare skin against his as he carried her off to his bedroom. What he didn't know was that he had just permanently sealed his fate.

He had just sold his soul to the Devil.

~.~.~

Emily debated tying him up, using his handcuffs...but in the end, she found she wanted him to be able to fight back. Just the thought had her so incredibly turned on; she didn't think she could wait much longer.

Hotch was coincidentally thinking the exact same thing as he laid Emily on his bed, and covered her deliciously bare body with his. Adrenaline and desire were coursing through his veins; he wanted to cover her with kisses, taste her sweet supple skin beneath his lips, join them together and drive her to the peak of insanity and -

Emily surprised him by flipping them over in a single swift, nimble move. Tauntingly, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and let it spill down her back, laughing to herself as the simple action caused a groan to rattle around in the back of her throat. "You really want this, don't you, Aaron?" she asked, her voice husky.

"Yes," he growled. "Though I always imagined this in a different way."

"How different? Oh, wait..." she licked her lips, watching as his gaze followed her tongue, "you want to dominate, don't you?"

"How is that even a question?" Hotch nipped at the skin of her collarbone. "You're a profiler, and a damn good one at that; you know these things, even though we make that promise in the very beginning to abstain from profiling one another."

Emily's smile grew impossibly brighter in the dark room as his hips ground uncontrollably against hers. "Two alpha personalities walk into a bar..."

"Walk into a bedroom," he amended.

Emily barked out another quick laugh. "Aaron Hotchner, with a sense of humor? As I live and breathe..." The last scraps of clothing were quickly lost between them, and without fanfare, Hotch bucked into her, desperate to regain his hold on control. He was rewarded with a surprised, sharp gasp. Things weren't supposed to progress this far; her mind was spinning, her heart - if she'd had one - would have been racing. Her hunger was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It was all-encompassing, so demanding...

Ultimately, Emily wanted him. In so many different ways.

And she would have him.

But first, she'd let him have his fun. She'd wear him out just enough; and then, just as she could see it in her mind's eye, she would bend her head and drop her lips to his neck, and he'd think nothing of it, he'd suppose she was marking him with a hickey or something else so wonderfully reminiscent of teenage love. But he'd be wrong. She'd mark him in a different way.

"Oh. Holy -" Emily threw her head back as Hotch pistoned his hips forward at a dizzying pace; but not before making sure she was comfortable and okay. "Oh my God, Aaron."

He grinned, obviously satisfied as the intensity and volume of her pleasured sighs and cries augmented with every second that passed. She'd wanted to dominate, he could tell; he might have been the only alpha male in the room, but Emily...she was the embodiment of the alpha female. Intelligent, strong, unbelievably sexy...

...and now she was his. Moving so that he was back on top of her, pressing her into the pillows, he realized it was the best feeling he had ever experienced. He never wanted it to stop. Even when he felt Emily contracting around him, even when the heat and the smell of sex in the room became stifling, even when he, too, felt the tension coiling deep in his belly...he hoped it would never stop. For this wasn't the way he had wanted their first time to be. The Emily Prentiss he knew deserved candles and a rose-scented bath, chocolate covered strawberries and champagne, love-making on cool sheets with the windows open. He wanted to give her that. He wanted to be that man for her, and her only.

The only problem was, this wasn't the Emily Prentiss he knew.

"Come on, Emily," he panted into her ear, his warm breath tickling the side of her face. "Come on, come for me, baby."

Baby? Emily felt her stomach lurch. God, stop making it so difficult for me, Hotch. I have to do this. You have no idea how much I have to. I have -

"Aaron!" Emily came with an outright scream, the sound rocking Hotch to his very core. His skin tingled with the aftershocks of her climax...not to mention his rapidly approaching one. Her arms gripped his shoulders with a different kind of desperation than what she was normally used to. She hadn't signed on for this.

It was when he came inside of her, his release hot and sticky and...well, wonderful, that Emily was shocked into the near-present past. She remembered Doyle hovering over her, making her his; she remembered his mouth on the swell above her left breast, and the fleeting pain she felt there. She remembered the scare she had gotten, weeks later, when she had thought she was pregnant with his child...

...and in and instant, she had Hotch flat on his back once more.

"Emily," he breathed reverently, his eyes glazed over as he peered up at her. She didn't need to hear his query to know that he wanted another round; maybe another two rounds. He was the kind of man who wanted to treat a woman well, Emily knew that much. And as much as she wanted to let that sway her, she didn't. She had a mission. Nothing would stop her.

Not even the handsome man dancing his fingers along her shoulders.

Unable to help herself, Emily dropped a brief, almost...sweet kiss to his parted lips. "Earlier," she murmured, "earlier, you said that I'd been able to profile you; that we all break that promise we make to not pry. You said that like you've done it yourself." Casually, she rested her forehead against his, then slid down so that her lips were at his ear, so close to where she wanted them; so close to his handsome, corded neck. "Have you?" she asked. "Have you tried to profile me, Aaron?"

He could only give her a pleased groan in response as she ran her tongue along his earlobe.

"Maybe you have. But that was then; this is now." Her eyes flashed. "If you tried to profile me now, you wouldn't be able to make sense of what you learn."

Slowly, Hotch propped himself up on his elbows, Emily still on top of him. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking about the shift in her behavior that he had initially noticed when he had let her into his car, mere hours earlier. He kissed her slowly, then pulled back to gaze at her. "What do you mean, Emily?"

"You'll know soon enough." Dipping her head, she felt a roar of pleasure screaming from the cavern where her beating heart had once been. Her hunger was about to be satiated. Caressing the side of his face in a way that could almost be called love, Emily licked her lips then pressed them to his neck, right above his pulse point. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, Aaron," she whispered; and when she searched herself later on, Emily couldn't tell if she had been earnest or not.

Hotch ran a hand through her locks, pushing them away from her face curiously. "What?" he asked again, his voice clearer now. "Emily, what are you talking about -"

A searing pain shot through his body, debilitating him and stopping him mid-sentence.

Any and all remaining traces of lust and desire gone, Hotch struggled to push Emily off of him, but she was stronger than he expected; she was too strong. Just months ago, he remembered fighting her on the mats of the Bureau's gym, and he remembered winning. But this? This was different. This was strange.

This was hell.

He could feel the life leaving his body, slowly but surely. He could see Emily clearer than anything in the room, he could hear her feasting...on his blood, on him. And he didn't know what to think. The only thought that came to mind was that this wasn't Emily, this wasn't the same beautiful brunette agent whose laugh caught him around the heart and enchanted him every day in the office. She had changed recently; and he had been too in love to see it.

Pulling away slightly, his blood dripping from her chin, Emily looked deep into his eyes, then gave him a deadly smile. "I can hear you thinking," she drawled. "Frantically thinking, actually. Go ahead..." she leaned in close, and Hotch grimaced as a drop of his blood landed on his now flushed cheek, "ask me the question you really want to know the answer to."

As his chest heaved to make up for the blood loss, Hotch groaned, his head throbbing as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing; as he tried to think up a way to escape, to overpower her, if necessary. She bent so that her ear was next to his mouth, waiting for his query.

He indulged her. "What changed you?" His voice was threadier than he expected. "Who changed you?"

Emily's eyes sparkled. "Interesting question choice," she murmured. "I'm impressed, though not completely surprised. I was sure you would ask me what I am...but you've always surprised me." Still straddling him, Emily made sure he was watching when she touched the scar - the brand - on her left breast. "Surely you noticed this. And I know you read my medical report. You know Doyle branded me. But I bet you don't know why he did it."

"To stake his claim on you," was Hotch's immediate answer. But he was beginning to expect it was something else; something bigger.

Stake, Emily pondered amusedly. Interesting choice of words. "No, that's not it," she said. "If only it were that simple, right?" For a moment, she looked away, not wanting Hotch to see the brief change of emotion in her eyes. "You don't want to know what he did to me. I made sure it wasn't in the report. But when he was done with me..."

"He changed you," Hotch interrupted, not knowing whether to feel terrified or angry; or both.

"Yes. Right there, right over my heart. Son of a bitch always wanted me to think he was a Romantic, but I knew better. He branded me there to cover up the other mark he had left...the bite mark."

"Are you going to brand me?"

The untimely cocky and sarcastic response had barely registered in Emily's mind before Hotch had pushed her off of him and onto the floor. He didn't really know what his plan was; he didn't want to kill her, but he supposed he would have to, if it meant he would make it out of the apartment alive. For now, he wanted to stun her, maybe leave her unconscious...

...but was it even possible for vampires to be unconscious? He didn't know.

Emily screamed as her head hit the wall hard, but she wasn't even the least bit disoriented when Hotch came charging at her. She had to give him some credit; here he was, still bleeding profusely from his neck, yet nothing seemed to faze him. He landed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the ground - for but a second.

In an instant, it was Hotch doing the screaming. Emily was ruthless this time, latching onto his neck and refusing to let go as she let his warm blood spill down her throat, satiating her wild hunger. He was delicious, undoubtedly the best she'd ever had. Warm, thick, even a little bit sweet...Emily loved it. She had never known a better aphrodisiac than blood. And this...well, God, she was sad it would have to come to an end soon.

Hotch's grip on her forearms didn't loosen, however. Rather, he dug his nails into her skin, wishing he would get some kind of reaction from her; just a tiny movement that would draw her away from his neck for a split second. But he knew it was too good to be true; she would not be distracted, and already, he could feel himself weakening. Briefly, he wondered how much blood he had left in his body.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he croaked, his eyes wide and bulging as he stared at her. His hands were on her hips, but in such a different way than they had been earlier. That had been passionate. But this? This was crazed.

"Another interesting question," Emily said, pulling away to wipe her face on the borrowed shirt lying crumpled nearby. "I'm not even sure I know the answer to that. Because I'm certain that before I was changed...before Doyle changed me...I loved you. Maybe I still do."

"I would hardly call this love."

She chuckled. "So you see my dilemma. I don't like stealing human lives; in fact, you're only my second. When you found me on the side of the road, I hoped you wouldn't recognize me. I hoped you would leave me be. That's why I've been on sabbatical lately; to keep away from you. There's just something about you, Aaron Hotchner...your blood sings to me. I abstained from a taste for long enough, though it drove me crazy every time we were near. I knew the craving, the hunger, wouldn't stop, even if I took another victim. It wouldn't be enough, not until I had you." She sighed, touched his bottom lip gently. "I wanted to run away, so I wouldn't have to see you again."

"But you didn't."

Emily arched an eyebrow. "Why else do you think I went out for a run in the rain earlier? I was getting out of the city, where I'd buy a car, get out of state and to an airport in a far enough location. Then I'd fly to some far off country in Europe. And neither you nor anyone else I know would ever see me again." She shook her head. "But you found me before I could get far enough away. And then I couldn't help myself."

Slowly, she moved back to his neck, silently noting that she'd have bruises in the morning from his wicked tight grasp. This time, when she continued to drink, she was gentler; it didn't hurt as much.

Hotch was giving up, and he cursed himself for it. "You don't have to do this," he whispered; and his voice dripped with malice. "You've had your taste. Leave me be."

"I can't do that, Aaron." Her hand curled around the back of his neck.

"Think of Jack," he groaned. "Damn it, Emily, you babysat him more times than I can count. Think of what is going to happen to him. Think of my boy."

Emily did. And suddenly, her intent changed. With any other human, she would've done the same as she had done with Liam, Doyle's proffered victim. Emily would have insisted on holding the drained body until she was certain not a drop of blood remained. But with Hotch...she supposed she could make an exception. She wasn't sure if he would take the offer, though; the man was nothing if not stubborn.

Carefully, she moved him so he was lying against her chest. Her hair, wavy from having air-dried, tickled his now numbing neck. "You have one of two choices, Aaron."

"I'll kill you," he managed, his voice nearly inaudible.

That made Emily smile. "The same way SWAT tried killing Liam?" Shock flitted across his face. "That's right, Liam was my first; though I wouldn't have chosen him if it had been up to me."

"He's..."

"Not dead. Well, not in the way you think. I was through with him when agents put two bullets through his chest." Emily shrugged. "Didn't hurt him."

Even as he was slowly losing control over remaining conscious, Hotch's mind stayed sharp. "What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

"I'm offering," she amended. "You can either be like Doyle - dead - or you can be like Liam. And me." Absolute and finite death, or something like falling into limbo.

"How did Doyle die? If...bullets aren't enough..."

Emily's face transformed to something bitter and sad. She wasn't sure she wanted to tell him. But she could at least give him the truth; she could give him that much before she killed him. "He asked me to do it. No one was watching; everyone was caught up in their own moment. He had been shot, sure. And everyone thought he was dead. But he wasn't. I knew that much. I...I had been holding onto his hand when I felt him give a squeeze. He had already said goodbye to his son. Nothing mattered to him anymore."

"But...how did you do it?" Hotch's eyes were bloodshot now. He knew he didn't have much time left; he knew Emily was waiting for an answer. But so was he. "How does it work?"

Aaron Hotchner, always so analytical. Even when he's minutes away from death. "He turned me. Only I could kill him."

"So that's how it works, then? He changed you, so you could kill him. If you..." he sighed, "if you changed me..."

"You could kill me." Emily stared straight ahead, emotionless. "Yes."

Hotch took a minute to take that into consideration. "You said I was your second," he said after a beat. "But if Liam came first, and Doyle came afterwards..."

She shook her head. "Doyle doesn't count. I didn't feast on his blood; he feasted on mine."

Hotch should have been more unnerved by the way Emily so casually spoke of death, but he found he wasn't...mainly because he wasn't sure he knew this woman before him at all. "Liam can kill you, can't he?"

Emily rolled her eyes. Would the questioning ever end? "Yes. He can. But he won't, I'll make sure of that."

"You can't be sure -"

Finally, Emily snapped. "For the love of the everything holy, Hotch, give me an answer before you bleed out." That would take away all my fun. She barely held back her pout.

"I'm not going to give you an answer unless you tell me the entire truth, Emily." His tired voice was still remarkably forceful.

"You want the truth? Fine! It works both ways," she said, her voice raised angrily. "The fledgling vampire can be killed by the one who turned him or her in the first place; or it could be the opposite. Doyle could kill me, I could kill him. I could kill Liam, Liam could kill me. You could kill me, I could kill you. It's not a science, Aaron. Now answer me, or I won't give you a chance to."

It was then that Hotch realized just how sharp and menacing her teeth looked, even in the dimly lit room. "If you change me, I won't age," he said; and he didn't sound happy. "Over time, the team would notice. My neighbors would notice. Hell, Emily, my son would notice."

"And if I don't change you, your son will find his father's broken body lying on the bedroom floor with not a trace of blood left in him. Imagine the questions he'd have." Emily cocked her head to the side. She hadn't wanted to be so crass; but she was getting impatient. Her hunger was almost - but not fully - satiated. And that little, tiny bit made all the difference. "Your choice," she spat.

For the longest of minutes, Hotch didn't speak.

For the longest of minutes, Emily thought he was dead - and she didn't know how to react.

But finally, he wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her down so that his lips were brushing against her ear. Sighing out his very last breath, he whispered his answer so silently that Emily had to strain to hear it, even with her heightened senses. Ever so carefully, but yes, victoriously, Emily pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips, then dipped her head to his throat one final time, drawing from his body the very last bit of blood he had. He slumped against her, dead weight against her chest.

And Emily waited. She supposed his decision made sense, especially given his last whispered question. In true Hotchner fashion, the question had been a good one; he wondered what they'd do - what he'd do - when people started noticing they didn't age. Retirement wouldn't be enough. His constant stream of suggestions - "What do we do?" he'd joked, "do we run away together?" - had been enough to make Emily believe that she was right; Ian Doyle hadn't been the true Romantic.

Aaron Hotchner had.

It was difficult, lifting Hotch back up onto his bed. But eventually, Emily was able to do just that, laying him beneath the sheets that still smelled of their impassioned love-making. Slowly, drinking in the moment, she climbed into bed beside him, and watched his face intently, wondering if there would be a noticeable change immediately. The paleness, maybe. The stiffness of his jaw; though that had always been there. Spent and satiated, Emily Prentiss let herself be wrapped in the cool cotton coverlet, to rest - albeit for just a little while. She watched. She rested. She daydreamed.

And most importantly, Emily waited. She waited until the storm clouds had escaped the night sky. She waited until the sun rose, its beams heating her still bare skin. She waited until she felt him move - and she smiled.

But she knew; this was not the Aaron Hotchner she had known and once loved. No, this...

This was different.

THE END.

Author's Note: Well? What do you think? I'd love to know! Please drop me a line; your feedback and reviews always make me smile. No, there won't be a sequel to this story, but I might do a companion piece where the roles are reversed; where, in a way, Hotch is the dominant personality and Emily is his submissive. Sound interesting? I sure hope so. This might be just the beginning to a line of supernatural-genre stories. ;)

Thank you in advance! I hope you loved it.