Wayne chuckled, throwing a furry arm around Morty's shoulder. "302 kids, pal. You know what that's like? Constant chaos. Puppies everywhere. Eunice can't keep up."
Wanda rolled her eyes. "I *can* keep up, Wayne. I just don't *want* to keep up with 302 kids."
She paused, eyeing Morty curiously.
Wanda leaned in, her sharp canine teeth flashing. "So, 'rare breed'... You got a mate? Or are you a lone wolf?"
Wayne snickered. "My wife would be a good match. She's got stamina."
Morty thought about Mavis—the Zing still thrumming in his veins. He couldn't say *yes*.
Morty blinked—did Wayne just suggest he mate with Wanda? The werewolf father of 302 pups? Wanda was a mother—a VERY fertile mother. Wayne's grin was too casual. Was he joking or...
Wanda seemed oblivious, checking her nails. "So, rare breed? Single?"
Wayne watched Morty intently—too intently.
Morty's mind whirled. Wayne's wife Wanda had 302 pups and just birthed another litter—yet she looked surprisingly fit. And she was asking him about his mating status.
*This is weird,* he thought.
Wayne's grin remained. Is he serious or joking?
"I- I don't know," Morty stammered.
Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Don't know? You're a werewolf. Wouldn't you want a mate?"
Wayne snickered. "Oh, she's very... fertile. Good genetics."
Morty glanced at Wayne's wife—Wanda was actually quite a catch—but he had a Zing. *Mavis.*
Morty's mind whirled—why was Wayne offering his wife to another werewolf? In human customs, that was... definitely not normal. But this was monster territory. Maybe werewolf customs were different?
Wayne's grin never wavered. "Come on, rare breed. Don't tell me you're picky."
Wanda rolled her eyes.
Morty needed answers—fast. "Wayne... aren't you married to Wanda?"
Morty swallowed hard. Maybe he should ask directly—but that could get awkward fast.
"Wayne... aren't you her husband?" Morty asked carefully.
Wayne shrugged. "In wolf culture, mates can share. Especially rare breeds." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Besides, Wanda needs excitement. 302 pups is a lot."
Wanda smirked. "He's not lying."
Morty's jaw nearly dropped. *Share?* Wayne was casually suggesting that werewolves could... *share* mates. And Wayne was offering Wanda like it was nothing. This was nothing like human customs.
"Share?" Morty repeated, bewildered. "You... mean like..."
Wayne shrugged casually. "Different customs, rare breed. Wolves don't do monogamy."
"Different customs?" Morty repeated, his brain short-circuiting. Sharing a mate was considered cheating back home. And Wayne was offering Wanda like it was completely normal. "So... you'd not mind if I...mated with your wife?" Wayne shrugged. "We're wolves."
Morty's brain was melting. Sharing mates? In werewolf culture, monogamy didn't exist. Wayne wasn't being weird—he was being *wolf*.
"So... you're telling me you'd just... let me mate with your wife?" Morty asked, his voice cracking.
Wayne nodded casually. "Of course. She's fertile. Good genes."
Morty nodded slowly, trying to process this bombshell. Werewolf customs were nothing like human ones. Mates could be shared. Wayne was casually offering his wife Wanda—302 pups already—to any "rare breed" that wanted her.
*Mavis would never agree to that,* Morty thought. But he'd keep this information in mind.
Exactly. He and Mavis hadn't even spoken—let alone dated. The Zing was real, but they were strangers.
Wayne yawned, oblivious to Morty's mental conflict. "Anyway, you got a room? The party starts in a week. Plenty of time to... settle in." He winked.
Morty nodded. "Yeah, already got one."
Wayne clapped Morty on the back. "Good man. If you need anything—another room, a mate, advice—you know where to find me." He whistled sharply. "WANDA! Let's go! The pups are destroying the lobby!"
Wanda sighed. "Coming, dear." She shot Morty one last look. "Think about my offer, rare breed."
Morty watched them leave—Wayne immediately getting overwhelmed by a stampede of tiny pups, Wanda rolling her eyes.
His mind was reeling. Werewolf customs—sharing mates. Wayne offering his wife. Wanda's fertility. 302 pups.
And then there was Mavis. The Zing.
Morty flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His Blitzwolfer ears flattened against his head in confusion.
"Okay," he muttered. "So werewolves share mates. Wayne is cool with it. Wanda is apparently down. And I Zinged with Dracula's daughter."
He ran his claws through his fur.
"Focus, Morty. Focus."
The Zing with Mavis was the priority.
Morty sat up, his Blitzwolfer ears perking. Another knock?
He hesitated—was it Wayne again? Wanda? Or maybe... Mavis?
He walked to the door, his claws hovering over the handle. His heart thumped.
"Who is it?" he called out, trying to sound casual.
No response. Just another knock.
Morty opened the door—and froze. Standing there was Mavis. The Zing personified. Her pale skin almost glowed in the dim light of the hallway. Her violet eyes locked onto his—no hesitation. The moment he opened the door, they both ZINGED.
Mavis froze mid-step, her breath hitching—something vampires rarely did. Her violet eyes widened, locked onto his Blitzwolfer gaze. The Zing hit them both like lightning.
"Hi," she whispered, her cheeks flushing a faint purple.
Morty swallowed hard, his wolf ears twitching involuntarily. "Hi."
Neither could move. Couldn't speak.
Mavis's violet eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement. She'd been sheltered in her father's hotel for over a century, always dreaming of exploring the human world. And now, standing in front of this handsome, mysterious Blitzwolfer...
"Can I come in?" she asked, her voice hopeful and a little stubborn. She wasn't taking no for an answer.
Morty swallowed—his wolf instincts screaming at him. Zing. Mate. Protect. Claim.
But he nodded, stepping aside to let her in. "Yeah. Come in."
He closed the door behind her, his claws scraping nervously against the wood. The Zing still thrummed between them—the magical connection pulling them closer without either moving.
"So tell me everything," Mavis said, settling onto the edge of his bed with her legs crossed. Her bat ears perked up eagerly. "Where are you from? What's a Blitzwolfer like? Do you know what humans are really like? Dad says they're scary but I bet they're not really that bad..."
Morty sat in the chair across from her, his tail wagging involuntarily.
"Humans are... actually okay," Morty said, surprised by how easily the words came. He thought about everything—the monsters he'd met, the strange customs, Wayne offering his wife, the sharing mates thing. "A bit weird. Too many rules about mating and monogamy. But mostly harmless."
Mavis leaned forward, her violet eyes shining.
"And Blitzwolfer?" Mavis tilted her head. "Never heard of that breed. Are you rare?"
Morty rubbed his neck. "Super rare. Only few in Transylvania." He thought about Wayne's offer—Wanda, 302 pups, sharing mates.
"So..."
Mavis's ears perked up. "So what? Rare breeds get special treatment?" She was clearly used to being sheltered and curious. "Do you have a pack? Or are you a lone wolf?"
Morty hesitated. He wasn't exactly pack material—more of a lone wolf himself. But the Zing was pulling them together.
"Lone wolf," he admitted quietly.
Mavis pouted—her signature "pouty bat face" that had gotten her everything she wanted from her father. "A lone wolf? No pack to protect you? No mate to keep you warm?" Her violet eyes shimmered with curiosity—and something else. "That sounds lonely."
Morty shifted in his seat. He thought about Wayne and Wanda—302 pups.
"It's not that bad," Morty insisted, but his tail gave him away—flicking against the chair.
Mavis crossed her arms, stubborn. "I'm serious. Lone wolves don't last. Pack or mate—you need one." She sniffed, looking almost offended on his behalf. "Even my dad's hotel has rules about this."
Morty sighed. "Look, I don't have a—"
His eyes met hers. The Zing flared again—stronger this time. Unmistakable. His Blitzwolfer instincts took over. His pupils dilated. Ears flattened. He knew—she knew.
Mavis's breath caught. Her vampire instincts recognized it too.
Mavis froze—her bat ears twitching. The Zing was unmistakable. She'd heard stories about it—the magical mate bond between monsters. But she'd never...
"You..." she whispered, her violet eyes wide. "You're..."
Morty couldn't finish. The Zing spoke for him. His tail was practically thumping against the chair now.
Mavis's breath caught in her throat. She was a century old—but not in years, rather the experience. Her father always forbid dating. Forbidden topics. But the Zing—the magical mate bond between monsters—it was undeniable.
Her violet eyes searched his Blitzwolfer face, looking for something—an answer, reassurance, perhaps the words he couldn't say.
Morty swallowed hard, his wolf instincts screaming at him to claim, to protect, to mate. But this was Mavis—Dracula's daughter. Zing or not, he was a Blitzwolfer and she was a vampire. Completely different species.
"Mavis..." he managed, his tail betraying him with another thump.
Her pouty bat face softened.
"You're my mate?" she whispered, a mix of disbelief and delight in her voice. "A Blitzwolfer. Dad is NOT going to like this."
Morty winced. "Your dad is Dracula. The Dracula. Who probably has stakes and garlic and—"
Mavis giggled—cutting him off.
"Oh, he's all bark and no bite," Mavis waved her hand dismissively. "He worries too much. Besides, I'm 118 years old—I'm practically ancient! I can make my own choices." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "And the Zing doesn't lie."
Morty felt his heart swell—she was accepting it. Accepting him.
"We're completely different species," Morty reminded her gently, his wolf instincts trying to keep him calm and logical. "Vampires and werewolves aren't supposed to... mate."
Mavis rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms. "So? The Zing doesn't care about species. And neither do I."
Mavis held his gaze defiantly, her bat ears twitching. "And I'm not letting a single, 'I'm not going to mate with you' statement a chance. I have questions. And you're answering them." Her voice had that commanding edge—Dracula's daughter. Not just some curious vampire.
"Start with..."