Chapter Text
On special occasions, Ericka watched her fiancée treat himself to a glass or two of real blood, usually only if said occasion was a romantic one between the two of them. He insisted it was important for vampires, should they want to maintain control over their more monstrous urges, to refrain from consuming blood, but a little here and there wouldn’t hurt. Ericka began to see it as the vampiric equivalent to human’s wine, especially with the way it made Drac act when he’d had a little too much.
The idea of drinking even substitute blood was off-putting when she was still human, but after their wedding, and after she was turned, Ericka quickly understood why animal blood would be a weakness for her husband—it was exquisite. Blood Beaters and Near Blood could never compare to the savory, metallic taste of the real thing, no matter how closely they mimicked it. At first, she thought she would indulge in it like chocolate; that while it was delicious, it was something that her tongue would grow tired of after she’d had too much.
But as the months went on, her penchant for the crimson treat only grew, until her want for it was almost insatiable. Drac had assured her that it was normal for a recently-turned vampire to crave it over substitutes, and that it would pass—but he did insist on warning her about her consumption of it. He could do little more than that though, since he was incapable of denying his beloved anything her heart desired, even real blood. He resigned himself to watching her for any aggressive changes in her demeanor, but from all accounts, Dracula only saw a happy wife, which was more than satisfying for himself.
Ericka noted his concern every time he questioned how much she had drunk that day, or if her cravings were waning yet, and she always felt a little badly that she had to inform him that she was still very hungry for it. Part of her worried that it was more than a passing craving—she had never felt such a pull towards any kind of food or drink like she did towards blood. It was like scratching an itch—something she looked forward to daily, like a child excitedly awaiting dessert after dinner. The less control she had over her need for it, the more she worried, but she didn’t want to alarm Drac. He was the Prince of Darkness, the king of all vampires, the infamous Dracula, and as far as anyone, including herself, was concerned, if someone would be considered a ‘vampire expert’, it would be him. And if he said that it was normal, that was good enough for her.
She reminded herself of that assurance as she stepped down the stairs that lead the castle’s kitchen, eager to find some red meat to eat. Blood was delectable on its own, but there was something about gnawing away while she consumed it that made the meal all the more satisfying. Ericka popped her head into the vast kitchen, and though the cauldron was boiling away inside, she saw no gargoyles working inside the room. She spotted some freshly cut mutton on the table past the fire, and her eyes lit up, fangs poking out between her lips eagerly.
She leaned back to look around the hallway, paranoid that Drac might see her lurking around looking for food, and seeing no one nearby, entered through the large wooden doors. She stepped energetically to the table, the tips of her heeled boots floating just off the ground from the bounce in her stride. The meat haunch glistened invitingly at her, and Ericka replied by swiping it up in her claws and eating away contently, allowing its remaining blood to coat her hands and chin. She polished off the first chunk and didn’t hesitate in tossing away the bone behind her and continuing on to the next one.
The discarded bone bounced across the stone floor, rattling to a stop just a step away from the door. As it settled, the door quietly pushed open a crack, and a mop of curly red hair drifted through the opening. Dennis hovered, careful to not make a sound as he snuck into the kitchen, but was surprised to see not one of the cooks, but Ericka, as the source of the noise inside. He felt even more nervous at that, thinking that his new grandmother catching him stealing from the kitchen could be worse than one of the gargoyles.
He had come with the intent on making off with one of the many large moose bones inside for his best friend, Winnie, but they were unfavorably stacked like wood on the other side of the kitchen. Ericka seemed distracted with her snack, and the boy felt confident enough to continue inside. He jolted when another bone was thrown from the table, clanking against the floor in front of him, but when he looked up, Ericka was still eating, none-the-wiser. He smiled assuredly and continued to the bone pile.
Dennis tapped his chin, trying to decide which one would be the best surprise gift for his friend, and checked the hallow of each one to see how much marrow was left inside, as Winnie insisted that that was the best part. The one that caught his attention the most was a a halved femur, but it was crammed into the pile good and tight. He didn’t doubt he had the strength to pull it out, but he worried if he could do it quietly enough. For a moment he thought about getting Ericka’s attention and lying that he had permission to take a bone, seeing as she was still new to the hotel, but shook it off, reminding himself of the lecture he had gotten about lying after they had returned home from their family cruise.
Carefully, his small hands grasped the bone and began a series of short tugs, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Ericka had noticed him yet. The longer his grandmother paid him no mind, the more confident Dennis felt. He readjusted his grip and pulled hard on the femur, but it barely moved. He tried again, and then once more, and the bone released from the pile, though must faster than he had expected. He flew backwards with it, hitting his back on the side of the hearth oven as he did.
The impact was strong enough to shake loose a tall axe polearm that was poorly secured to the wall, and it tilted over like an executioner’s swing, imbedding itself with a loud clang in the stone right at Ericka’s feet. She jumped in surprise, and immediately turned to the first movement her eyes caught, instinctively vocalizing a vampiric roar at it, too late to realize that said movement was Dennis.
Unfortunately, Drac had poked his head into the kitchen just in time to witness it. After seeing his grandson sneaking to the kitchen, he had decided to follow him, only to be confronted with the scene of his bloodied wife baring fangs at the little boy. He hardly had time to gasp before he flew to his aid, scooping Dennis up and hiding his face against the collar of his cloak.
“Ericka!” His voice raised as he lurched above her like a vulture. Ericka gasped, having barely comprehended when Drac grabbed him that Dennis was what was in the room with her.
“Drac! I—” She tried to explain, but he cut her off.
“I told you to watch your blood intake—look at you!” His eyes flickered to the blood caked on her face and hands. “You could have hurt Denisovich!”
Drac turned away, still holding Dennis close, as though he could guard him from the situation itself. Ericka looked over herself, realizing with more clarity how truly horrific she was acting; covered in blood and growling like an animal. Her chest immediately swirled with guilt for her actions, and shame for having let her husband down so enormously. Her shoulders sunk, and she stared at his back painfully.
“Drac…” Ericka’s voice was small. “I didn’t… mean to…”
She ended quietly, deciding before she’d even finished speaking that the excuse was pointless to say. The fingers of her right hand curled over the back of her left, only to flinch away at the sticky feeling of the blood still stuck to them. She turned her hands over, watching the red liquid sheen on her claws, and hung her head sadly. She looked up to Drac’s tight figure once more before retreating from the kitchen, her trained steps silent on the brick flooring.
Ericka was very, very rarely meek, and the tone in her voice made Drac’s heart ping with guilt for yelling at her, something he’d never previously done. But he stood firm, intent on protecting his grandson, even though his eyes darted around fretfully while he tried to think of how to respond. He swallowed hard and turned around to continue scolding his wife.
“You may not have meant to—” His voice stopped in his throat when his eyes could not find Ericka. He looked around worriedly, moving away from the corner of the kitchen to step in half-circles as he tried to locate where she had gone. Only the crackling of fire and the bubbling of the cauldron responded to his silent questioning.
“Papa Drac…?” Came Dennis’ voice from his shoulder, and Drac was immediately reminded of his concerns. He took the boy from his arms and knelt to the ground, standing him up to look him over.
“Denisovich, are you okay? You didn’t get hurt at all, did you?” Drac asked hurriedly, checking his arms for scrapes. Dennis pouted.
“No.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Papa Drac.”
“No, no! You don’t have anything to be sorry for, spider-monkey—it’s okay.” He tried to assure him, but Dennis still frowned.
“I didn’t mean to scare Nana Ericka… the axe just fell…” He sulked, turning to look sadly at where Ericka had been standing.
“Wh—scare? What do you…” Drac followed Dennis’ line of sight to the polearm’s blade that was imbedded deeply in the floor. His eyebrows arched up in worry, mouth parted slightly, as he began to understand what had actually happened. Was Ericka only being aggressive because she thought that someone was trying to hurt her? It didn’t excuse her lack of control, or consuming all that blood secretly, but he reminded himself that she was still a new vampire, and might overrespond when thinking that she was in danger. He frowned more as he tried to process the events that he had just shortly missed.
“Don’t be mad at Nana Ericka.” Dennis spoke up softly again, almost pleadingly. The comment startled Drac out of his thoughts, and he immediately smiled and shook his head from side to side.
“No, no, no—I’m not mad at Nana Ericka, it’s alright Dennis—uhm,” He looked around, trying to find something to distract his grandson from such negative thoughts. “—here!”
Drac snatched up the large bone Dennis had been holding before he had grabbed him and pushed it back into his arms.
“That is for Winnie?” He smiled knowingly. “Or Tinkles?”
Dennis twiddled his fingers and smiled sheepishly.
“Winnie.”
Drac laughed quickly and stood up, spinning Dennis around and hurrying the boy toward the door with his hands on his tiny shoulders.
“Oh, good, good! So, you go give that to Winnie and, uh, I will go talk with Nana Ericka.” He smiled too wide. Dennis stopped at the door, looking up at him earnestly.
“You won’t yell at her again, right Papa?” He asked with another pout. Drac forced his smile to stay on his face.
“No, no, no more yelling, I promise.” He nodded. “We will just talk about the um, the misunderstanding, you pointed out, Denisovich.”
He said it as though he was praising Dennis for helping, and Dennis smiled happily at that. Drac continued nodding, and gave his grandson a few little pats on the back to scoot him in the direction of the stairs.
“Alright, you go! You go do that, ahah, yes…” He encouraged Dennis until he’d gotten to the first round in the stairwell, then burst at superspeed the opposite way down the hallway, rushing to find Ericka before she got too far.
He turned up a cloud of dust in his wake, zig-zagging through the lower hallways until he reached a passage that lead up into the active levels of the hotel, looking around in remorseful concern all the while. Drac saw no sign of his wife on the way to the lobby, and he wondered if he should have also taken the stairs with Dennis, but he had no time for doubt in his searching. The count grabbed the first knight he saw and frantically informed him, and with him, all of the spirits that bound the battalion, that he needed a location on Ericka.
The guard shook his helmet, and told his lord that he had not seen the countess that evening. Drac made a strangled sound in his throat and clawed at the air.
“Find her, and tell me as soon as you do!” He ordered, frustrated, then took off in bat form, hoping he may have better luck from above.
He flew through the revolving door and up the outside of the castle walls, entering one of their bedroom windows in hopes that she might have retreated there. He looked through the room and its connecting areas, but could not find her anywhere within in their chambers, nor in any of the public quarters Ericka favored.
The more he failed to find her, the more frantic Drac became. He chastised himself as he hurried from room to room, ashamed for shouting at her, and for jumping to conclusions—even if he was right to not take any chances when it came to Dennis’ safety, once his grandson was in his company, he was confident that Ericka would have been unable to hurt him even if she wanted to, which she didn’t in the first place. He should have questioned her, or been softer instead of accusing her of endangering their grandson.
Ericka’s pitiful voice haunted him, and he was sure it would continue to do so until he found her and could apologize for his behavior, and ask about her own, too.
He entered the hotel bar on the verge of ripping out his own hair, when he spotted Griffin and Wayne, the only two members of his ‘pack’ currently staying in the hotel. A gust of wind hit them as Drac stopped sharply at their table, his cape billowing over his shoulder before settling back behind him. Griffin’s glasses pinched tightly, and both monsters brought up their hands to wipe away the dust that had launched into their eyes.
“Jeez Drac, what’s the—”
“Have either of you seen Ericka!?” Drac didn’t let his invisible friend finish his complaint, his loud voice startling the drowsy bar patrons nearby. Wayne and Griffin looked to each other, wondering what nonsense their friend had gotten himself into now.
“Um, no.” Wayne replied dryly.
“What’d you do now, buddy?” Griffin asked. If Drac could have seen the sarcastic smile on his face he would have slapped it right off.
“I…” Drac started, his voice again too loud, but then closed his mouth nervously. His head sunk into his shoulders and he hunched over to keep their conversation a little more private. “We… had a little, um, tiff…”
“A tiff?” The two replied in disbelief.
“What kind of tiff could the two of you possibly get into when you worship the ground she walks on?” One of Griffin’s lenses lowered as he cocked an eyebrow. Drac frowned more, guilt weighing on him at the mention of how normally sweet and sugary their relationship was. His poor Ericka, he thought, her trust in him must be so betrayed.
He went to explain when one of the knights burst through the west door of the bar. He turned his head around to see the commotion, and felt a ping of hope as the guard ran up to him with clanking steps.
“Sire,” The knight stood at attention with a quick salute, “the countess was seen crossing the castle bridge by several guests this evening.”
Drac’s expression dropped from the news. His mind began racing again, imagining all sorts of horrible things; Was Ericka just taking a walk in the woods to cool off? What if she got lost, or injured somehow? What if she didn’t make it back by daybreak? What if she was leaving him?
The idea of their union even possibly ending made him feel physically ill. Without responding to the knight, Drac whipped back around to the table and roused his friends from their seats with his magic, levitating them into a huddle.
“You must help me find Ericka.” He pleaded. “She could still be lost, or worse! I need to find her and apologize!”
Wayne and Griffin again shared a glace. They didn’t believe that Ericka, who was physically capable even before she was a vampire, would have any trouble staying safe in the surrounding areas—both were in silent agreement that Drac was just being dramatic, like usual. But they also knew they had little choice in the matter, since refusing would invoke Drac’s demonic wrath, so they relented, albeit cynically.
“Alright Drac, we’ll help you find her.” Wayne spoke for them both, and Drac beamed through his nervousness. He urged his friends to hurry and take a hearse to search the roads, while he flew above and checked wooded areas.
“And if you find her, call me immediately!” He demanded, then disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.
Griffin and Wayne watched his bat form shoot out of the fog and fly out of the bar before dragging their heels to do as he said.