Author's Note: Here it is. Finally. The companion piece to the Hitchhiker, with Hotch as the dominant personality...with Hotch as the undead. As is probably obvious, I had to take some extreme creative liberty with this piece, even more so than I did with the Hitchhiker. Hotch and Emily are a little more than OOC, what with Hotch being a power-hungry control freak and with Emily being a subservient woman smitten for her boss. But I'd like to think it all fits together in a way, especially with the profile Emily has developed - which you'll read about soon enough.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this foray into all things supernatural. It was very fun to write, and hopefully it will be enjoyable for you as well. :) As always, thank you so much for reading!

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

Aaron Hotchner was, for the lack of a better word, hungry. And this...this was no regular type of hunger. Some called it desire. Others more accurately called it bloodlust. But for Hotch...

For Hotch, it was obsession. Pure, intense obsession.

He wanted her, plain and simple. Though he was sure she wouldn't see what was so simple about the situation he was drawing her into. He wanted her. And he would have her, come hell or high water.

Hotch actually snorted at the expression. It was strangely fitting, for hell was coming, indeed. He was one of hell's Guardians; he was Satan's right-hand man.

And he relished it.

For as long as Hotch could remember, he had always been someone's superior. He loved power and he loved exercising his. Whether it was over his brother when they had been young and untouched, over the less-experienced prosecutors at the firm he had practically run, or over his current team of profilers...they all held a certain sense of sweetness for him.

Especially her. Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, thirty-five years young, intelligent, and ever so beautiful. Striding determinately toward his large window, the one overlooking the entirety of the floor, Hotch watched her and had to actively refrain from salivating.

She looked especially magnificent, almost like she was trying to taunt him. And she probably was; he hadn't been the least bit surprised to learn she had a crush of sorts on him. She wouldn't be the first, after all. But Emily was the first to garner his reciprocated attention. And when she was wearing that black pencil skirt and that red silk blouse, who could blame him?

Oh, and her black patent heels. Hotch groaned. He mustn't forget about her heels. She was always so well dressed; except for the days when she wore those damned turtlenecks. He hated what they shielded from his gaze; the smooth column of her reedy neck, the hollowed base of her delicious throat, the steady pulsing of her carotid.

Finally, it was as if Hotch could take it no longer. Emily might have been the brightest woman he had ever come across, but her smarts came at a terrible price: her unsatisfiable curiosity.

"Poor Emily Prentiss," Hotch said under his breath, "always meddling in things she shouldn't. Research projects, she calls them." He scoffed. "If only she knew...she's in the middle of a great big 'research project' herself." The prospect amused Hotch to no end. She had spent countless hours laboring over and documenting the sudden influx of all things supernatural into their quaint little human society; yet she still had no idea that she was one of the very few humani standing in the bullpen that very moment.

She had no idea she was surrounded by the dead. The undead.

But she would soon enough. Opening his office door with a flourish, Hotch felt a certain thrill run through his too-old bones. He would use Emily's schoolgirl, clichéd crush on him to his advantage; he would satiate his all-encompassing hunger once and for all.

"Prentiss!" Her head snapped up at his bellowing call, the action causing her dark hair to tumble off her shoulders and down her back. "Emily," he amended, kinder now. "Can I see you in my office, please?"

"Uh, I - of course," she stammered, rising from her desk chair with a fluidity and elegance her voice had failed to display - that fluidity and elegance he so loved. So busy was Emily with moving across the catwalk that she didn't notice the way Hotch's eyes briefly gleamed a proud, burning red. She didn't notice the pointedly authoritative glance he cast over everyone else in the bullpen.

Emily didn't notice the bruising finality with which he locked the office door behind her.

~.~.~

"You...wanted to see me, Hotch?"

He nodded, then gave her a slight smile. "Please, have a seat." He watched as she complied, her body folding effortlessly into one of nondescript but comfortable office chairs he had proffered. "I'm going to go ahead and get right to it," he said, with an unnecessary clearing of his throat. "I've seen your latest research."

Emily's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. She situated him with a blank stare. "My...research?"

"On strigoi, on vrykolakas," Hotch reminded, the words rolling off his tongue with suspicious ease. "On vampires."

Emily's heartbeat began to quicken; with his heightened senses, Hotch could tell. "Oh, that." She fought back a mean blush. God, how embarrassing, she thought. He must think I'm just another wide-eyed conspiracy theorist. Way to go, Prentiss. "That's just me letting the right side of my brain take over. I've always been a horror and sci-fi buff." What a nerd, he's probably thinking. Get a grip, for Pete's sake.

Emily let out a self-deprecating sigh. "It's silly, really. It's all just really s -"

"It's not silly." Hotch met her dark gaze, and it was as if he was suddenly peering into her soul. His voice was low, rumbling. "Not at all."

Emily wanted so desperately to believe that he was saying all that to appease her, to make her feel better, to assure her that she wasn't alone in her beliefs; but there was just something off about him. Something about the timbre of his voice, maybe...

"What do you mean?" she finally queried.

"Your research, Emily. It's all correct." His smile was almost proud. "But there are some holes in your theories."

"How do you know?" Emily was neither defensive nor accusatory. Instead, she was curious. And very, very excited. "Have you been doing research yourself?" If that were the case, Emily wouldn't be surprised. She knew most everything there was to know about Aaron Hotchner - such was the case when you're head over heels, right? - and she knew there was nothing he loved more than expanding his knowledge.

In fact, the more Emily thought about it, the more alike she realized they were: experienced, fearless, intelligent, damn good at their respective jobs. Emily smiled to herself. Maybe this meant she - they - had a chance. Maybe -

"No, I haven't needed to do research. I have a...what should I call it? A sort of inside source." His answer jolted her to the present. Hotch skillfully masked a smirk. Oh, if only she knew the things I want to do to her, with her. She'd be terrified.

"'An inside source'?" Emily tilted her head to the side. "You're making me feel like a journalist here, Hotch," she teased, her eyes bright.

Briefly, Hotch wondered what it would be like to see the light leave those oh so lovely eyes. To see her eyes grow dull, then dark...then crimson.

"A journalist, huh?" Something made him chuckle. "Maybe I should continue running with that theme? After all, there are some things - many things - that I know, that you don't. Things that would interest you. Things you've spent weeks looking for." Before Emily could once again ask What do you mean?, Hotch continued on. "I would give you an exclusive."

"'An exclusive'?" Emily was beginning to feel like a broken record now. Her skin began to crawl with the same sensation she'd felt before; before, when she had been vainly wishing that Hotch's questioning had been purely good-natured. Deep down, she knew that there was no possible way he should know about her research.

So how did he?

"Hotch," she said slowly, "I don't think I understand what you're getting at." Despite the unease she had begun to feel, she couldn't shift her gaze away from his. He was mesmerizing; he always had been, what with his rakish good looks, his piercingly dark eyes, the handsome stretch of his brows and of his thin lips, those lips Emily had longed to kiss for seemingly forever. She blinked away the haze of lust that threatened to overtake her. "How do you know about my research? Who is this inside source of yours? Why did you call me here?"

"So many questions," Hotch mused, leaning forward in his chair.

"...Hotch?" Emily's throat constricted slightly. Her body was betraying her already, telling her brain something was surely and unquestionably wrong when her stubborn heart refused to admit it. "And why is the office so quiet?"

"I sent everyone home," he said finally. "It's just you and me, Emily."

Emily's head began to spin. So many times she'd imagined him saying those words to her, but never in a situation like this. She wanted to brush it aside with a careless shrug and jubilant laugh; for all she knew, she had nothing to worry about. For all she knew, nothing was wrong. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, causing her to read into things that didn't need to be read into. It surely wouldn't have been the first time.

But she just had to know.

"Answer me, Hotch," Emily demanded, her back ramrod straight and her gaze unwavering. Her hands gripped his desk insistently. He wasn't the only one who craved knowledge, after all.

"Which question?" he drawled.

"All of them."

"I called you here to talk," Hotch said simply. "To inform you of some matters that you might be involved in -"

"What?"

"- and to ask you a bit of a...favor, you might call it. Who's my inside source, you want to know? Well, then. I don't have one. There is no source; I am my own source." Slowly but surely, Emily watched him become less and less like the Aaron Hotchner she knew. He was...devolving. And it worried her. "I know what you're about to ask: if I'm my own source, then how do I know the things I do?" He left the question unanswered for the time being. "Oh, yes. And how I know about your research." He ran a finger along the length of her downturned hand. "I know everything about you, Emily Prentiss."

She shook her head, stunned. "What are you telling me?" she breathed, not even sure she wanted to know the answer.

That earned her a smile; and Emily was almost put off by how charming and disarming it was. Almost. "What do you think I'm telling you?" Without letting her answer, Hotch continued their conversation as if it had never been interrupted in the first place. "I would give you an exclusive. The exclusive, and the permission to do whatever you desired with that information. I know you, Emily. You have this curiosity about you that is never fully satisfied; though I'm confident I could satisfy you." His voice was dripping with seduction, and Emily found herself falling under his spell, no matter how much she tried to fight it. "Once you had every bit of information you could ever dream of having, I would promote you, give you a pay raise." He knew just how appealing this would sound to her; she liked power just as much as anyone else. Though no one could ever love power as much as he did.

"I would do anything you ask."

Emily swallowed thickly. "I sense a 'but'."

Hotch nodded. "A small price to pay, maybe. Surely you've heard the saying: curiosity killed the cat."

And my, what a fine pussy you are.

"What kind of price?" Emily couldn't help but ask the question; and while she did, a thousand thoughts began running through her mind. What could he possibly want from her? Money? She sure had a lot of that...and depending on how good his information was, she was prepared to pay him well. If not money, then what? Resources? Connections? She had many of both...but somehow, she had the feeling that wasn't what he so greatly desired.

So what was it? Was it sex? Emily scoffed at the ideas her mind was supplying. Even to herself, she sounded certifiable. Was she really that prepared to give Hotch whatever he wanted? She didn't even really recognize the man seated before her!

Emily was sure she was going to go crazy waiting for his answer; but even amidst his silence and her confused state of being, she found herself laughing to herself. Nice going, Prentiss, she droned to herself. You just had to go and fall in love with the dead guy.

After all, that's what he was, right? Hotch had yet to admit it...but Emily wasn't stupid. She was stubborn and often closed-minded and naïve, but she wasn't stupid. All the signs were there; her profile was spot-on. Vrykolakas, she had learned, loved nothing more than being in charge. They were socially and sexually dominant; sophisticated and magnetic, perceptive yet jaded, all at the same time. They were much like literature's Byronic heroes, and in fact, Emily had stumbled upon a quaint quote from Lord Byron himself that had reminded her of none other than her stoic Unit Chief: That man of loneliness and mystery, scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh. Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt from all affection and from all contempt.

Lone, wild, and strange. Emily let her eyes fall shut. This was certainly not the outcome she had imagined when she had entered Hotch's office; or when she had started her research in the first place. She wasn't scared, no...but, rather, she was shocked. Shocked that she had been so oblivious for so long.

Finally, Hotch's answer met her ears. "I'd need just one single thing in return, Emily."

Emily's head snapped up, and not for the first time that day. When had he gotten so close to her? She could feel his breath on her skin; and as much as she wanted to push him away, to run, she found herself...liking it. Carefully, she brought her gaze up to meet his.

"...name it."

Hotch's resulting grin was feral. "You know me, Emily. You know...us." There was a pregnant pause. "You know what we vampires need."

Even though she had been suspecting it all along, Emily still felt the air whoosh out of her lungs at his frank admission. Her vision blurred as the puzzle pieces fitted together in her mind; and as hundreds of other questions bruised her lips, waiting for their respective turns. "Blood," she gasped, the word slipping past of its own volition. "You want to..."

"Say it, Emily," he whispered, and his voice was the most seductive thing she had ever heard. "Come on...say it."

Emily's gaze fell to his lips, which were so unbearably close to hers. She swallowed thickly; and when she spoke, her voice was reminiscent of a straight, dry tone she had adapted while talking to Hotch in Red Onion State Prison, long ago. Back then, her only disconcertion had been using twelve-year-old Lucy Downey as a bargaining chip for the scumbag Karl Arnold. But now...

Now, she felt as if her entire world had been turned upside down. And it had.

"You want to...drink my blood?" The words sounded to foreign and childish; like something out of a fairytale gone wrong.

"Smart girl," Hotch murmured, and Emily's body tightened and bowed when he dragged his tongue along the shell of her ear. Damn the man, she groaned. "I do," he affirmed. "Very much so. I haven't tasted a human in much too long. You...you would be able to satiate my hunger, satisfy me for years. You'd be delicious," he added on a sigh.

"But why me?"

"You're special," he said simply. "You were - you are - good enough to be in any unit in the FBI. Hell, you could run the State Department. You have so much potential, so much talent...so why do you think you ended up in a unit like the BAU? A unit many people have never heard of; a unit many people believe is based off of junk science. I've wanted you for a very long time, Emily," Hotch said; and his words came from him at the same time as he felt a familiar stirring deep in his loins. "Your blood...it sings to me. I have to have you."

His voice left no room for argument.

"So...what'll it be, Emily?" Hotch was kneeling before her now, and in another life, Emily would have liked to imagine that he would he assuming that very same position with a ring in his hand and a promise of forever on his lips. Only, now...now, the forever he was offering was much too dark for her liking.

Emily struggled to push her conflicting emotions aside. "If I say no?"

"I don't think you will."

"But if I do?" she insisted, and already, Hotch could tell she was getting impatient. After all, he was, too.

"Then I don't know how I'd react," he said frankly. "Apparently, it's well known that I have a tight grip on control. That diminishes when I'm around you. You make me...how should I put it? Ah, yes. You make me wild." Once again, he was whispering cruelly tempting thoughts into her ear. "I know you have feelings for me, Emily; don't deny them. Think about what I'm offering you. Think about what we could be together."

"This is bribery," Emily moaned.

"Yes," Hotch supposed. "But isn't it beautiful?" His head dropped lower, hiding in the crook of her sweet-smelling neck now. "Beautiful, just like you. No...I take that back. Nothing and no one can compare to your beauty. You make the most gorgeous of sunsets or roses pale to an ugly dust grey." He let the compliment stir a part of her heart, a part of her very soul, before continuing. "Just one taste," he practically pleaded. "Let me have one taste, Emily. I'll give you everything you could ever want and more."

Hotch knew love made people desperate. His tale was much too similar to Emily's...though, for him, his seductress straight from hell had been a slight, unassuming blonde by the name of Haley Brooks.

Even after seemingly an hour passed, Emily didn't answer. But she didn't need to; Hotch could see her answer reflected in her eyes. His feral grin morphed into something so much more monstrous in a heartbeat; and before Emily could have a change of heart, he caught ahold of that pale, scrumptious skin at her neck and bit down hard.

~.~.~

Even her scream was beautiful.

Emily's eyes grew steadily wider and dilated, her face contorting into a terrible mask of agony. "You told me it - oh! - wouldn't hurt," she keened. "Hotch -"

But he was rather busy. Emily was the greatest thing he had ever tasted; rich, warm, and sweet with the slightest tinge of exotic spice. He wanted to devour her, and he never wanted to stop. "I never said it wouldn't hurt," he murmured against her neck, the statement rumbling through to Emily's core. "I said it would be bearable, and I wasn't lying. After all, you're no stranger to pain...are you, Emily?"

She simply shot him a scowl. "Like hell this is bearable." She could feel a thin ribbon of blood trickling from her neck down to her chest, and she didn't like it one bit.

Hotch chose to ignore her, catching a thick drop of blood on a finger instead. "Did you know?" he asked almost dreamily. "Blood is one of the strongest aphrodisiacs."

"Why am I not surprised?" Emily drawled.

He bent his head so that their foreheads were touching. Staring straight into her eyes, Hotch said, "I know of a way to distract you from the pain."

"Do you, now?"

Her sarcasm and defiant sass made him want her all the more. It took all of his might to prevent from taking her right then and there. He wanted to savor her; just one taste of her lifeblood gave him the most intense high. It was unlike anything he'd ever had before, unbelievable. She was unbelievable. To consume her all at once...well, it would leave him dazed for hours.

"Yes. I do." Hotch barely gave her the chance to let his answer sink in before he claimed her sweet lips in a brutal kiss.

Emily's resulting surprised gasp only served to allow Hotch to plunder her mouth further. The sultry assault was anything but one-sided, however; Hotch had always guessed Emily would give as good as she got. And, lo and behold, he was correct. It took barely a minute before Emily felt the office chair's legs collapse underneath her, due to their combined weight, and before she knew it, she was sprawled on the ground with a very hard male body hovering above her.

Hotch found himself holding her close once he realized she was trembling. "You don't want this," he noted plainly, half disappointed, half curiously concerned.

"Honestly, Hotch, I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know how I feel, who you even are, how I got into this mess, why I agreed to this mess...how I feel about you." Her lips straightened into a thin, displeased line. "I don't know anything anymore."

"I can't stop, Emily." His voice was gravelly, yet almost pained.

She just shook her head; she didn't believe him. She groaned when Hotch's tongue licked a thick swipe across the new wound at her throat. "How many more of you are there?" Emily asked; because she wanted to know and because she wanted to stall him.

"In the BAU itself? Three more: Dave, Garcia, and Reid."

"Reid?"

Hotch nodded, thinking of Tobias Hankel. "It was before your time, before you came here."

"And...you?" Emily's voice slurred just slightly. "Who changed you, Foyet?"

That earned her a rueful smile but a dangerous glint of his now black eyes. "Haley," he countered. Emily was incredulous, but Hotch interrupted her before she could open her mouth to ask more. "I don't want to talk about it." It had been his one moment of weakness, in all his life.

"But -"

"I said no." Hotch left no room for argument as his hungry lips found her jugular once more. He was pinning her to the floor now, reveling in the soft whimpers meeting his ears. If he had previously seemed lenient, that was gone in an instant. "You said you wanted a distraction," he outright growled. One hand came to the front of her blouse, fingering the smooth red buttons he found there. "Is that still true?"

God, he wanted her. He didn't think he'd be able to hold back once he had her naked, much less take no for an answer. Sex wasn't always a necessary denouement after being changed or having changed someone; but with Emily? It was mandatory. To feel her supple skin beneath his hands, to pepper kisses up her thighs...then higher...and higher...

If he'd had a heart, it would have stopped at that exact moment, as one single magnificent thought sprung to mind. Hotch's hunger ratcheted to an inferno as he gazed at Emily. Their eyes locked on one another, he whispered, "Yes or no, Emily," then moved his hand to her back, where he found the zipper to her skirt and pulled it down.

Her chest heaved with the pressure of a million shards of sensation. "Hotch..."

"Aaron," he corrected, before swiping one deft finger across her clit. His eyes flared red. "You're wet," he rasped. The need to make do on his previous thought overcame him; how good would it be to taste her sweet nectar and her blood, all at once? To gorge on the combined flavors would make any ordinary man insane.

Emily couldn't help but cry out when she watched Hotch take his finger between his lips, eagerly cleaning it of her essence. "This is fucked up," she murmured under her breath, but at the same time, she wanted more, so much more. His singular touch had not been nearly enough to satiate her desire. And if he was to be sated...shouldn't she be as well? It was only fair.

"Yes."

Hotch stopped. "What did you just say?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," she repeated breathily. "Do it." She moaned, and not just because of the lust coursing through her veins. "Distract me."

That was all Hotch needed to hear. In a flash, he had he bared to his possessive gaze, her clothes and his littering the office floor. He carried her over to the couch and dropped her on its leather surface, then brought one of her legs up to wrap around his hip. He wasted no time on foreplay; after all, with thick red still trickling over her skin, what more could he want?

He took one more taste of her blood before joining them as one.

~.~.~

"Oh, it hurts," Emily gasped. He was big, and sure, she was wet, but it wasn't nearly enough; not when his maddening pace seemed to quicken with every wild thrust of his hips. She had wanted this for so long...but never in this way. "Stop, Hotch. Please..."

Needless to say, he didn't listen. He was determined to throw her over the edge of paradise. He'd time her release at the exact moment he drained her body of its blood; her scream would be terrifying and he would love it, he was sure. He wanted to hear her let go of control...not that she'd had any control in this situation thus far. The thought made him smirk.

"Stop, stop, stop," Emily continued chanting, her skin on fire wherever he touched. Finally, she clawed viciously at her back; her strength was already beginning to augment, Hotch noticed with pleasure. "Damn it, I said stop!"

"God, you're so feisty," Hotch praised, pinning her hands above her head with an iron grip. He swiped one hand across his mouth, but when he molded his lips against hers, the kiss was still bloody and raw. He couldn't ever remember being this excited. "And so beautiful." He threw his head back in rapture as he took in the stain of red on Emily's lips. She was a vision straight from Heaven...he, straight from hell. "I love it." But that didn't stop Emily from writhing, trying vainly to move out from underneath him. He chuckled darkly. "Am I going to have to restrain you, Emily?"

Emily eyed the handcuffs on his desk. If she could just get to them...

It took all her might, but in a second, she had rolled them off of the couch and onto the floor, where she was now the one on top. "I've always loved a good fight," Hotch said mockingly, actually wanting to antagonize her. She was like fire in his hands.

Emily screamed out; she could practically feel him at her cervix. It was all too much, just too much... "You bastard," she spat.

"That's it," he encouraged, his feral grin back for good. "Keep talking, darling. Don't stop." He could feel her internal muscles begin to burn and clench, and he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he had her right where he wanted her. He took a good long drink from her neck, carelessly letting the blood drip from his chin onto her chest. He buried his face between her perfect breasts. "You were saying?"

"I hate you," she said, and for the life of her, she couldn't tell if she meant it. "I hate what you're doing to me, how you're making me feel -"

"And how am I making you feel?"

"You - oh! Hotch!" Emily physically shook as she felt Hotch turn her flat on her back, trapping her clit between two skilled fingers in the process. She was so close...so close. Just one more touch.

"Tell me, Emily!" Hotch commanded. "Tell me how I'm making you feel! Say my name!" he roared.

One last, deep-seated thrust was all it took. With an earth-shattering "Aaron!", Emily felt herself falling apart, falling into a darkness she was unfamiliar with, for it had been so powerful and great; she felt her body growing weak, hot, heavy as the last of her blood was drained. Her skin was thrumming with a multitude of sensations. And when Hotch crashed down beside her, she mustered up the strength to say just one last thing.

"You said you'd only take one taste," she slurred.

"I lied," Hotch said with a smug smile. "And to be honest...with that scream of yours, I'd say you weren't really objecting."

~.~.~

Emily's eyes flew open. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she sat up straight in bed, glancing around her slowly before she realized she was at home, beneath her comfortable Egyptian cotton sheets. Beside her, Hotch stirred, then turned to face her, his expression groggy.

"You okay, Emily?"

She paused for a long moment, then nodded her head. "Yeah," she said, somewhat surreally. "I just had this...really weird dream."

Hotch ran a hand through his disheveled hair, then cocked his head to the side in question. "About?"

"You. It seemed so real..." Emily laughed a little to herself. "You were a vampire. Can you believe that? You were a vampire and wanted to make me one, too." Sighing amusedly, she fell back against her downy pillows, her eyes falling closed as sleep welcomed her back into its warm folds. "Crazy, right?"

"Yeah." Hotch's eyes burned a deep crimson for but a moment, and his lips curved into a sharp, gleaming smile. "Very crazy."

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. Thank you in advance! I sure hope you loved it. It was very...interesting and entertaining to write. ;)