First Bite

Iron and Lead

Santana had never felt so betrayed in her life. The person she loved most in the world had been keeping a huge, dangerous secret from her. She'd been manipulated and mocked and put in danger every time she'd been around Brittany. She should never have taken that stupid girl home from the bar. Humans were more deceptive than any creature she'd ever met. She never wanted to see a human again. She'd raid blood banks to avoid them.

When Santana got home, Quinn was waiting in the basement with her arms crossed.

"Fuck you," Santana muttered as she climbed into her coffin.

She was about to slam the lid shut, but Quinn caught it and held it open, gazing down at Santana with hard, demanding eyes.

"Don't talk to me like that," Quinn said, her words cool and flat.

Santana felt awkward lying in her coffin looking up at Quinn as she fumed, so she crossed her arms and avoided eye contact. She pursed her lips and waited for Quinn to speak.

"Do you see why I wanted you to ask her?"

Santana didn't move, silently screaming fuck you fuck you fuck you in her head. She was furious at Quinn for bringing about the downfall of the first thing that had made her happy in fifty years.

"I see," Santana grunted.

Quinn tilted her head in a fake expression of sympathy. "I don't feel good about it. But you needed to know."

"Well now I know, and if you'll excuse me, I need my beauty sleep." Santana sat up and reached for the handle of her coffin, but Quinn held it open with a firm hand.

"Next time you see her, I hope you'll let her know she can't mess with vampires like that."

Santana scoffed. "There's not going to be a next time."

Quinn let out a low chuckle. "Of course there will be. Tonight when you wake up, she'll be here."

"Over my dead body."

"If you like," Quinn said. "She does seem like a top."

Santana burned with anger. "I don't want to be around that stupid blood sack."

"That's too bad, because Finn feels it would be good for the cause if we had her around."

"Fuck Finn," Santana spat.

"Careful, Santana," Quinn said, her words warning. "I know you're new to this, but you know better than to speak ill of my Maker and our sheriff."

"I don't care who he is, I hate him."

"That may be. But he wants her around. So you'll keep seeing her and report back to me with everything you learn about her family."

"No, I won't."

Quinn stared down at Santana for a minute before sighing. "I really thought you'd learned better by now," she said, her words light and airy as if she were commenting on inclement weather. "Santana, as your Maker..."

Santana wanted to scream at her, but she squeezed her fists and closed her eyes. "Fine!" she barked. "Now let me sleep!"

When Santana awoke, she could sense overwhelming despair and suffering and knew, because of their bond, that Brittany was upstairs. She cursed herself for the choices she'd made. If she'd just left Brittany in the hotel room that night, without letting her drink from her, none of this would have happened. They would never have fallen in love. Santana doubted they were actually in love, trying to convince herself they were deluded by their excessive blood sharing.

Lying in her coffin, Santana willed herself to detach from Brittany. She wanted the clarity it might provide. Then she could decide, with a clear head, how to appropriately avenge the wrong that had been done to her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the feeling of despair up, trying to lift it from her chest. But it only sat on her heavier, more demanding and cruel than before. Now she could hear Brittany whimpering, the noise muffled by the floor between them.