"Are you... good in bed?" she asked bluntly.
Morty's brain completely short-circuited. His tail went rigid. His ears shot straight up. His claws dug into the chair arms.
"W-what?!" he stammered, his voice cracking.
Mavis tilted her head innocently. "What? We Zinged. That means mating."
Morty's entire face heated up. His Blitzwolfer brain was already calculating—instincts, mating, mating habits. He couldn't think about that with her. Not directly.
"We just... ZINGed. That's it." He gestured vaguely. "That's the extent of our bond right now. Not exactly the time to discuss... capabilities."
Mavis tilted her head, unimpressed. "The Zing literally means our souls recognized each other as mates. Mating is the natural next step. My father always said—"
"Your father also thinks humans are evil," Morty cut in, trying to steer clear of the topic. "Which we've established is... debatable."
Mavis pouted—her signature pout.
Mavis crossed her arms, her pout deepening. "My father also says vampires should never mate with werewolves. That we're completely incompatible. Different species."
She leaned forward, her violet eyes narrowing. "But the Zing doesn't care about rules, does it?"
Morty swallowed hard. His wolf instincts were already calculating—how many pups? How compatible?
"The Zing does NOT care about rules," Morty agreed cautiously. "But Mavis—your father is Dracula. The Dracula. He's going to have a fit."
Mavis rolled her eyes dismissively, her bat ears twitching with annoyance. "Oh, please. Dad's always been overprotective. I've been fighting him since I was a baby bat."
"So," Mavis continued, her tone shifting back to curious. "Are there... rare Blitzwolfer things? Like can you do stuff humans can't? Before we get to the whole mating thing obviously."
She was being sneaky. Morty knew it. She was deflecting the awkward question by asking about his biology. And honestly? As a Blitzwolfer, he had *plenty* of answers.
Morty shifted uncomfortably. "I mean... Blitzwolves have certain... physical advantages. Enhanced stamina. Strength. Sensitivity." He listed things vaguely, trying not to sound too suggestive.
Mavis's violet eyes sparkled with scientific curiosity—but also something hungrier. "How long can you last?"
Morty nearly fell off his chair. "M-Mavis!"
Mavis shrugged innocently, her bat ears perking up. "Just asking! Vampires can go for days—sometimes weeks. My father says werewolves are quick and sloppy." She sniffed disapprovingly. "I need to know if my mate can keep up."
Morty choked on air. "Quick and sloppy—" His wolf instincts bristled at the insult.
"OK, we will be little too fast. Why don't I go help your father planning your birthday party and while I'm doing that we can bond and get to know each other better."
Mavis beamed. "That's actually a wonderful idea! Dad would love the help. He's been stressing about the party for weeks." She jumped off the bed eagerly. "And maybe after... we can talk more?"
Morty nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."
Mavis grabbed his hand—skin to fur—and the Zing flared again. She squeezed gently before letting go.
"Come on!" Mavis dragged him toward the door excitedly. "He's usually in the hotel's main lobby planning everything."
As they walked down the hallway, Morty noticed a framed portrait of Dracula—terrifying fangs, red cape, looking like he'd bite the head off anyone.
Mavis giggled at his expression.
The lobby was huge and grand—lots of vampires lounging around, looking like they'd rather bite you than talk. In the middle of it all stood Dracula himself—imposing, terrifying, and currently yelling at a group of zombies event planners. "MORE BLACK ROSES! AND THE COFFINS BETTER BE SILK-LINED!"
Mavis skipped over to her father, waving cheerfully. "Hi Dad! Look who I found!"
Dracula's head snapped toward them—fangs bared, cape swirling. His violet eyes narrowed at the Blitzwolfer. "Mavis. What is this... creature doing here?"
Mavis rolled her eyes. "He's helping with the party, Dad. Be nice."
"Helping? Or looking for mating rights?" Dracula sneered, eyeing Morty like he might snack on him. "You know wolves and vampires don't mix, right? Especially not my little girl." He tapped the frame where Mavis's picture hung—always protective.
* "He's being nice!" Mavis snapped back at her dad.
Dracula ignored the protest, turning his full terrifying attention on Morty— eyes scanning him for weaknesses. "And YOU." He pointed a sharp finger. "What's your name, creature? Or should I just call you 'Food'?" Mavis rolled her eyes, knowing her father.
"dad, seriously—"
"Mavis, darling," Dracula said, his voice dripping with false sweetness, "why don't you go check on the catering? I need a... private word with our Blitzwolfer guest."
Mavis groaned but gave Morty a reassuring glance before flitting away. The moment she was gone, Dracula's demeanor shifted—fangs fully bared, eyes glowing red.
"Now, you little furry thing," Dracula hissed, his cape swirling menacingly, "I don't know what game you're playing with my daughter, but you're going to explain yourself. CLEARLY."
He leaned forward— Dracula was imposing. "And don't even think about running. My hotel is secure."
Morty stood his ground, tail swishing calmly. His Ultimate Mind calculated—Dracula was powerful, yes, but not smarter than him. Not even close. Plus, he had the Essences—Binder, Breeder, and the Omnitrix.
"Relax, Dracula," Morty said smoothly, completely unfazed. "I'm just helping with the party."
Dracula sneered.
"Helping?" Dracula scoffed, circling Morty like a predator. "With WHAT exactly? Planning menus? Or eyeing my daughter for mating?" He leaned in close—fangs inches from Morty's face. "Listen carefully, wolf. Mavis is off-limits. To YOU."
Morty didn't flinch.
"I'm not eyeing anyone, Dracula," Morty said calmly. His Ultimate Mind already had several options—mark him, issue an order, store him. But Mavis liked her dad. Better to be diplomatic.
"I ZINGed with her. That means she's my mate. Zing doesn't lie."
Dracula laughed—cold and mocking. "Zing? That can happen to ANY monster."
"Any monster?" Morty's eyebrow twitched—Dracula didn't know about the Essences. The Breeder, the Binder, the Omnitrix. He was no ordinary Blitzwolfer.
"Sure, Dracula. Any monster can ZING. But not every monster can KEEP it."
Dracula stopped circling—staring at Morty with sharp, narrow eyes.
"Oh?" Dracula sneered—fang tapping his chin dramatically. "And what makes you think you can keep Mavis? She's a vampire princess—you're just a furry mistake." He leered—expecting Morty to shrink back.
Morty's expression remained calm—unmoved by the insult. His Ultimate Mind already had several strategies—he could mark Dracula, issue an absolute order, or simply walk away. But he needed Dracula's cooperation for Mavis's sake.
"I don't need to prove anything to you, Dracula," Morty said smoothly. "The Zing already decided. Mavis did too."
Dracula's face contorted—insulted. "The Zing doesn't override my authority over my daughter." He leaned in, his shadow looming over Morty. "I've lived centuries, boy. I've seen werewolves come and go. None of them lasted."
He gestured dismissively. "You'll be another forgotten statistic."
Morty held Dracula's gaze—unblinking. The lobby fell silent. Even the zombies stopped planning. Dracula studied Morty's eyes—searching for fear, hesitation, weakness. He found none.
"We will see," Morty repeated simply.
Dracula growled low—actually growled. "You think you're clever, little wolf?" He snapped his fingers—two zombie event planners shuffled forward.
"Mavis is one hundred and eighteen years old," Dracula said coldly. "She needs someone who can—"
"Can what?" Morty interrupted politely. "Keep up with her? Provide? Protect?"
Dracula smirked. "All three. And I doubt a Blitzwolfer can match a vampire's... stamina."
Morty tilted his head slightly—thinking about his Breeder Essence. If Dracula only knew.
"Stamina," Morty repeated casually—though his Ultimate Mind was already simulating various outcomes. If Dracula knew about the Breeder Essence—about the "porn physics" that bypassed taboos and physical consequences—he'd be terrified.
"I've got plenty of stamina, Dracula," Morty said smoothly. "More than you think."
Dracula scoffed loudly—laughing mockingly.
Dracula's laughter echoed through the lobby—cold, mocking. "Stamina? You're a wolf, boy. Quick, sloppy, and done in minutes. Mavis needs centuries of devotion—not minutes of... animal instinct."
He leaned forward—fangs bared. "I've seen werewolves try to claim vampire princesses before. They always run out of breath eventually."
"Look you-"he stopped thanking. "Listen this is about Mavis not us and you know she is stubborn she likes me so way dont we try to get along."
Dracula blinked—caught off guard by Morty's diplomatic approach. He expected fear, anger, or submission—not... reasonable compromise. His fangs retracted slightly, violet eyes narrowing.
"Get along?" he repeated skeptically. "You're asking me to... accept a Blitzwolfer as my daughter's mate?" His cape swirled. "The Zing already made it official."
"Exactly," Morty said, choosing his words carefully. His Ultimate Mind calculated every possible response from Dracula. "The Zing happened. Mavis wants this. Instead of fighting it—which we both know you'll lose—why not try to get along?"
He paused. "For Mavis's sake."
Dracula's jaw tightened. The mention of his daughter's happiness clearly struck a nerve.
"For Mavis's sake," Dracula repeated slowly—his voice softer, less menacing. He considered Morty's offer—a Blitzwolfer as his son-in-law. It was absurd. But the Zing was real. And Mavis... Mavis was always so stubborn about what she wanted.
Dracula's cape settled slightly—less aggressive than before. He stared at Morty with narrow violet eyes, still processing the compromise.
"You... want to get along? With me?" he asked incredulously. "A vampire lord?"
Morty nodded steadily—unfazed by Dracula's skepticism. "For Mavis. She wants this."
Dracula hummed—still incredulous. "And what exactly does 'getting along' look like to you, wolf?" His tone was guarded—expecting some trick.
Morty's Ultimate Mind already had the answer. He just needed to frame it carefully.
"Helping with the party, obviously," Morty said smoothly—gesturing at the chaos around them. "Showing respect."
Dracula hesitated—his mind racing with every strategic option. He knew Morty was intelligent, capable, and had the Zing. He also knew Morty was a Blitzwolfer, and Blitzwolfers were... unpredictable.
"Show respect," he tested slowly, his gaze sharp—"How exactly does a wolf show respect to a vampire lord?" His tone was cautious—almost mocking.
Morty leaned against the counter—his tail swishing calmly. His Ultimate Mind had already calculated the best response. He needed to show Dracula he wasn't a threat—just a willing ally.
"By following protocol," Morty said smoothly. "Acknowledging your authority. No posturing, no challenges. Just helping with the party—like you asked."
Dracula tilted his head—studying Morty carefully. Something about this wolf's composure bothered him. Most creatures trembled in his presence—humans, werewolves, even other vampires. But this Blitzwolfer stood relaxed—confident.
"Protocol," Dracula repeated—testing the word. "You know vampire protocol?"
Morty smiled slightly. His Ultimate Mind had already downloaded centuries of vampire etiquette.
"I know enough,"
Dracula's eyes widened slightly—one of the few times Morty saw surprise on the vampire lord's face. "You... know vampire protocol?" He sounded genuinely incredulous.
Morty nodded calmly, his tail swishing with quiet confidence. "Respect the elder. Support the family. Never challenge in public. Offer deference where due. Simple hierarchy."
Dracula blinked—twice.
"Simplicity," Dracula murmured—almost thoughtfully. He found himself oddly impressed by Morty's knowledge. Most creatures couldn't even pronounce "hierarchy" correctly. But this wolf... this wolf knew the rules. "You understand the importance of family?" Dracula asked carefully—his tone less hostile.
Morty's expression softened—a hint of something real behind his confidence. "I understand that family means protect—protect. Always. Whether you're a vampire or a wolf, you'd never let your own harm."
His voice was steady—there was truth in his words.
Dracula watched the wolf closely—his violet eyes unblinking. Dracula's violet eyes narrowed—calculating. He'd never met a creature who understood vampire protocol so perfectly—especially not a Blitzwolfer.
"Family," Dracula repeated—his voice less hostile, more cautious. "You would die for Mavis?"
Morty didn't hesitate—his tail stilled. "Every single time. That's what family means."
"Every single time," Morty repeated firmly.
Dracula's expression flickered—something unreadable passing through his violet eyes. For the first time, the vampire lord looked genuinely unsettled—like something had shifted in how he perceived this Blitzwolfer.
"Every single time," Dracula repeated slowly. "Bold claim for a wolf."
His gaze drifted toward the lobby—where the zombies were still frantically planning—then back to Morty.
Dracula's jaw tightened—still suspicious. "And if I refuse? If I deny this... Zing of yours?" His voice turned cold—imperious. "I've lived centuries, wolf. I can still deny you everything."
Morty remained calm—his Ultimate Mind already calculating the response.
"You can," Morty agreed simply.
Dracula smirked—victory apparently assured. "Then why bother convincing me?"
Morty shrugged slightly—tail swishing lazily. "Because if you deny the Zing—Mavis will fight you. And you don't want that. She's stubborn. She'll make your immortal life very difficult."
Dracula stiffened. Mavis *was* stubborn. Terrifyingly so.
"And I don't win either," Morty continued calmly. "I lose Mavis, and you have an angry daughter."
Dracula's smirk faltered. The wolf had a point—strategic, reasonable, and painfully accurate.
"So helping you with these zombie event planners," Morty gestured around, "that's... what? Win-win? You get a stress-free party."
Dracula's smirk returned—but it lacked its earlier venom. He was a shrewd political animal, always looking for advantages. "Helping me with the party might... serve my interests. But what's in it for you, wolf?" His tone was cautious—almost testing. "No Zing, no protection."
thoughtful—calculating. He was testing Morty's intentions.
Morty met Dracula's gaze—steady and unblinking. "Mavis's happiness," he said simply. "That's it. You give me your blessing—I help you throw the perfect party for your daughter. Everyone wins."
Dracula searched Morty's eyes for deception—his ancient instincts screaming something was off about this wolf. Too calm. Too smart. Too...
Dracula's violet eyes narrowed—still unconvinced. "And if I say no?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If I refuse to give my blessing?"
Morty shrugged—tail swishing lazily. "Then we're back to square one. Mavis fights you. I fight you. And nobody wins." he signed before continuing. "I know you love your daughter more than anything so at least tolerate me for her or have you forgotten why you built this place to make sure she's happy to keep her safe. We both want the same thing."
Dracula's smug expression froze—then shattered.
That hit a nerve so deep, so fundamental, that Morty actually saw the ancient vampire flinch. The mention of why he built the hotel—the sacred reason—his entire purpose for existence—made Dracula's violet eyes widen with raw vulnerability.
Mavis. His baby girl. His everything. His reason for every sacrifice.
Dracula's jaw tightened—muscle working beneath the skin of his pale cheek. His hand drifted unconsciously toward his chest, where he'd built this entire empire for her—for Mavis.
His eyes flickered—searching the lobby—at the chaos around them—at the zombies still planning. His hand moved.
*Dracula built this place to make his daughter happy.*
Morty leaned forward—his voice dropping—his tail stilled. His Ultimate Mind was playing the strings perfectly.
"You built this entire empire for her, Dracula. Every stone, every rule, every sacrifice—all to make sure Mavis was happy. Safe." He paused—letting the weight of those words settle. "And now you'd deny her happiness over... pride?"
Dracula's breath hitched—a rare occurrence for an immortal vampire lord. His hands clenched at his sides—fingernails extending slightly.
"You presume much, wolf," he whispered—but the venom was gone. His voice cracked ever so slightly on the last word.
Morty pressed harder—just slightly.
"I presume nothing. I see a father who built a sanctuary for his daughter."
Dracula closed his eyes—heaving a sigh that sounded centuries old. The wolf had dismantled every defense, every argument, every prideful barrier. And the worst part? He was *right*. Everything he'd built—every sacrifice, every empire—it was all for Mavis.
His violet eyes opened—searching Morty's face for deception. Found none.
"Fine,"
Morty tilted his head slightly. "Fine how?"
Dracula straightened his cape—regaining some composure. "Tolerate you. Help with the party. No... formal blessing." He paused—his fangs glinting. "But if you hurt her—if you fail her—there is no corner of this world I won't find you."
Morty nodded respectfully. "Fair enough."