A/N: Mostly written while I was half-asleep, which oddly made it very easy to write werewolf!Santana.

By the time Brittany and Rachel left the bathroom, Kurt had finally made it to Tina's house. Hearing his voice coming from the kitchen, Rachel was just about to walk with Brittany down the hall to greet him when Santana abruptly swept down the hall, bypassing Brittany and pushing Rachel back into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind them, Santana moved in until Rachel was practically pushed back against the sink. "Santana!" she gasped breathily, heart hammering in her chest, "What are you doing?"

Santana dipped her head, breathing in deeply through her nose, her hands curling into tight fists on the edge of the sink on either side of Rachel's waist. "You're still bleeding, aren't you." It wasn't a question, her voice deep and thick, like it was coming from her chest. Eyes flashing up to Rachel's, they were so dark and predatory Rachel was suddenly, legitimately, scared.

Hands drawing back, thumbs dragging in the loose drapery of Rachel's shirt, Santana's shoulders jerked as she slowly lifted Rachel's shirt; a second later, her fingers detached to grab Rachel's. Having been trembling at her sides, Rachel's hands spasmed, her head snapping up to catch Santana's almost whispered order, "Hold your shirt."

Finding herself doing as she was told, Rachel's already shallow breathing picked up when Santana slid her hands down to catch in the waistband of her shorts.

Somehow, Rachel found her voice. "Santana."

Long fingers felt out the ends of the Band-Aids, the slight touch enough to once again ignite the awareness of …pleasurable… pain. Rachel's breath hitched, feeling goosebumps swirling up and down her body, her skin under Santana's hands both reaching for her and shrinking away. "Santana," she whimpered again, "You're… Scaring me."

"Shh."

There was an increase of pressure on her left side, and Rachel could barely believe it when Santana drew a red-streaked finger up to her mouth. Her tongue darting out, her eyes widened, shuttered, her face drawing into a deep scowl as she turned her head to spit out the taste. Confused by the flood of hurt and shame that caused deep inside of her, Rachel flinched when Santana's eyes snapped back to hers. "Neosporin," the girl snarled, the hand still shining with Rachel's blood on it thrusting past her side to grab the nearest hand towel. Turning on the hot water, she wet one end, body shifting closer, stomach brushing against Rachel's knuckles. Rachel's knees weakened.

Once the towel was sufficiently wet, Santana pulled her arm back. Leaning forward, nose brushing along Rachel's bangs, breath hot against her cheek and jaw, Santana rumbled, the space between their bodies filled with electricity and danger and Rachel really, truly, instinctually wanted to run, needed to run, needed to get away, needed to find out why she was feeling this way, find out why Santana was acting this way, and why she suddenly felt so off-kilter and terrified and – and – and turned on – "Stay."

Rachel crashed her eyes shut, turning her head back and up, unconsciously baring her throat, her body tightening and freezing like a strummed string trying to settle down. There was a loud exhalation, a throaty whine that almost sounded like her name, and Santana's head dropped even more, soft, burning lips hovering over Rachel's fluttering, jumping pulse. Her hand taloned around Rachel's hip, making her squeak-moan, biting down on her lower lip hard enough to take her attention away so she wouldn't cant her hips into Santana's. Somehow, she could tell that Santana was drawing her lips back, angling her head so she could skim her teeth along her skin, bite down…

Rachel trembled. This, whatever this was, was happening too fast. Trying to get her mouth to work, her voice to work, Rachel knew if she could just unclench her hands from her shirt, turn her head, or just make some sort of noise, the molasses surrounding her brain and Santana's would thin. Shatter. "…S… Sa… San."

Almost panting, Santana pressed in before Rachel could feel her pulling back so slowly and disjointedly it was like she was forcing herself back from somewhere deep, deep inside herself. Keeping her eyes closed, still shaking, head back in its uncomfortable position, Rachel jumped, unable to stop a soft cry from leaving her mouth when gentle, muted fingers heated and slightly damp from the towel brushed against her jaw line. Sighing, stroking her cheek once more, Santana's presence was suddenly gone from the space before her, so fast Rachel didn't have time to catch her breath at the loss.

Until hands hooked into her shorts, pulling the waistband down just enough to fully uncover the Scooby-Doo Band-Aids ("Scooby-Doo, B…?" Santana murmured with the faintest trace of amusement), far enough down to encounter the waistband of Rachel's underwear. But Rachel didn't have time to get embarrassed. "Keep the shirt up," Santana instructed, her eyes pitch black and still so, so predatory when Rachel turned to stare down at her; having to press her elbows into the sink top, Rachel hissed, biting down on her lip again when Santana peeled off the first Band-Aid on her left hip, swiping at the still bleeding wound with the towel.

The tingle was worse than before. "Santana," she croaked, fighting the urge to sway her thighs or press her legs together as everything she'd been feeling in the last couple of minutes swirled like something sickly arousing in her stomach, jumping as Santana's hand wrapped around the back of her right hip, "What are you – "

This time, she didn't get to finish.

Santana's tongue lapped at the unveiled cut. Firm, warm, long, pressing licks, each movement of her tongue multiplied the painful pleasure Rachel had been experiencing, zigzagging up and through and in her body. Gasping, jolting, Rachel gasped again when three Band-Aids in, Santana grabbed her hand, pulling it down. Pressing her palm against the slowly settling throbbing spots, Rachel understood as soon as Santana pulled her hand away. Aside from the cooling and drying saliva still left behind, there was no more blood. Moving back, to the as yet untouched wounds, Rachel's heart thudded when she felt the familiar tacky sensation.

"Get it?"

Blinking at the suddenness of Santana's voice, Rachel opened her mouth to ask – demand – to know what was going on and why all of this was happening – all of it, from the beginning of the school year on – only to lose her train of thought when Santana began again.

Needing the anchor of staring down at Santana so she could anticipate and prepare for what was coming next, Rachel's mind whirled in her head. Santana's saliva was sealing Rachel's cuts. Was sealing the cuts Santana's nails had caused. And Rachel was letting her… Was letting her lick her? Lick her?

The tip of Santana's tongue drew up her hip, flicking over the top of her hipbone; oh god did it go straight to her core.

Finally, seeming like eons Rachel forced herself to stay quiet, breathing deeply and steadily, Santana finished that side, and glanced up at her. If possible, her eyes were even darker. Did she… Was she enjoying the taste of Rachel's blood? "Let it air dry," she husked, nose twitching, forcing herself back on her heels, "I'll put more Neosporin and Band-Aids on when I'm finished."

Rachel removed her hand from her shirt again, cautiously sliding it down to take over the task of keeping her waistband down. She had to look, to make sure this was real. Her palm could have been lying to her, after all.

No. Still red and there, the radiating color fading as she watched, the cuts looked clean with no ragged edges, and no blood in sight. "How did… Why?" Her brain was not doing a good job of translating her thoughts into intelligible words.

"Hand up." Pulling Rachel's shirt out, reminding her of what she should be doing, Santana didn't bother answering. However, peeling off another Band-Aid, she didn't immediately move forward, the towel inactive on her leg. Instead, she let out a deep breath. Not really a sigh, more of a release of excess energy, Santana slowly looked up. Something new in her eyes, something that somehow immediately released the rigid grip Rachel's Flight response had had caged around her; she wasn't completely comfortable, her heart still thudding against her ribcage, but the thickness of threat eased from around her throat. "Berry, relax. Saliva has enzymes that help in the clotting process and speed up scabbing. I promise I'm not hurting you."