Chapter Text
A steady rhythm sounds in her ears, like a sort of music. Through her blissful haze, she is able to make each element out.
There is the rapping of the headboard against the wall; there is the creaking of the bed beneath her bare body as it gets pushed into the mattress; there is the soft clapping of skin against skin; there are the quiet grunts that emit from the body above her; there is the steady thrumming of her heart in her chest; there are the light gasps of pleasure that escape her being; there are the smoochy noises of lips on lips meeting together in passionate kisses. It's all a chorus of erotic song, a carnal symphony of pleasure and lust between her and her love - Dracula. She closes her eyes as his fangs drag across her neck, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple through her entire body and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
When she opens her eyes again, however, the entire scenery has changed. It’s the same room, but it’s night, and the only light is coming from the outside. The light of an entire mob of torches. Her blood runs cold as she feels the bundle of a baby back in her arms and very clearly hears the angry shouts from the folks on the street.
No, no, no. Not again.
She wants to scream, she wants to run away, but it's as though she is trapped into the role. And there is nothing she can do to change what comes next.
Drac gives her the words of reassurance and leaves. The figure comes for her again with the stake. The dreadful all-too-real feeling of the weapon as it pierces her chest in an agonizing manner, puncturing through her skin, ripping through her heart and coming out the other end. The numbness of the intense pain washes over her once more as the Count returns for her, his wails of grief reverberating throughout the space of the burning room.
And then silence.
Ericka gasps, awakening from slumber with a start.
She takes deep breaths to calm her racing heart and blinks a few times to become aware of her surroundings. It’s dark, but she can still make out the familiar shapes that made up her room. She shifted and became aware of the weight of an arm draped around her waist behind her and a cool body pressed up against her back. And then the passionate memory of the night before with Dracula returns to mind, but only for a brief moment. The more recent memory of the nightmare was too fresh in her mind to recount any of the intimate details with her zing at the moment. Instead she clutches tightly to the bedsheets and muffles a sob into them.
Dracula was immediately stirred from sleep by the sound. “Ericka?” he whispered, his arms tightening their hold around her and shaking gently. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“W-what?” she asked, turning herself to face him and still in a sort of haze from the nightmare. She was surprised to find that there were fresh tears down her cheeks, and the sight startled Dracula.
“Ericka!” he gasped, sitting up straight in the bed. “Honeyfangs, what’s wrong? Please, tell me,” he pleaded as he wiped the droplets away with a thumb.
“I-It’s nothing,” she said after a moment. “Just a bad dream…” But the memory of the stake driving so painfully through her chest kept coming back to her in vivid detail, and she let out another sob.
“Ericka, no,” he whispered, tugging her in close and wrapping both arms around her small frame. “It’s okay, my love, no harm will ever come to you when you’re with me,” he promised, pecking her forehead lightly a few times.
“I know,” she nodded. “It’s just… I’ve been having this dream a couple of times during the cruise trip…”
“Oh?” Dracula looked at her. “Do you want to tell me what it is? If you’re comfortable.”
Ericka nodded again, and peered up at him through her teary lashes. “It was night…” she began, “and I was inside the second floor of a room. You were there too. And we…” She looked down, blushing.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Well, uh, we had a child together,” she admitted with a small smile.
“Oh,” Drac answered with a little bit of a surprise.
Then she continued. “It wasn’t long before a strange crowd of people surrounded our home, they had torches and pitchforks… they were yelling at us…”
Ericka shivered a little and he held her tighter.
“They lit the home on fire. It was burning down all around us. I was so scared… but you said you would go and take care of everything. But then, as soon as you left, someone broke in. They came right up to me and… and…” a few loose tears streamed down her cheeks again and he tenderly wiped them away again.
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Continue.”
Ericka leaned into his touch and continued telling. “He staked me, Drac! He killed me in front of our own daughter… in front of you!”
A hysterical hiccup escaped her throat and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She trembled violently and her voice cracked as she spoke. “I could hear you crying over me. I tried to move... I tried to speak b-but... I couldn't!" The last word caught in her throat, tears falling faster than before, and Dracula held her tighter, rubbing a circle on her back with one hand while the other carded gently through her hair. She was shuddering in his arms but he could tell that even the smallest touch brought her comfort. He sighed quietly and kissed her temple softly.
But while the arms still continued to rub up and down her back soothingly, he himself had gone completely silent.
“Drac?” she asked. She peered up to him, finding a distant look on his face. She ran her fingers lightly down his chest in an attempt to bring him back to reality. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
As his eyes finally met hers there was something unreadable in them for several seconds until it morphed into a mix of sadness and guilt.
"I'm sorry," he said, smoothing down a strand of hair atop her head. "There's nothing wrong." But Drac was a terrible liar, and she could see right through that. Ericka leaned closer against him, pressing herself further into him.
"There is something wrong... tell me," she urged, eager for her chance to provide comfort to her love.
He didn't speak for a few more moments. Finally he sighed, leaned forward to kiss the top of her forehead and then pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed with his back facing her. His body language was stiff, as though he had been holding all of this inside of him, and he kept his gaze firmly averted. She watched him with concern written plainly across her face as he took several deep breaths before speaking.
“I’ve never told you about the night I lost my wife…” he began.
“No,” she said softly in response, unsure of where he was going with this.
“And yet… “ he continued, “you recounted it perfectly.”
Now it was Ericka’s turn to be confused. “What?”
“It’s like you were there,” he murmured. “Or as if you were - “
He cuts himself off as confusion overtakes his features again, like he’s trying to make sense of a tough math equation. He gathers his thoughts enough to speak again.
"Johnny once told me on his travels to India that he learned about some kind of belief where we don't actually die, but come back as someone new to live a new life."
"I've heard of that too," Ericka said.
"I didn't really believe him before," Drac continued, "but now… with everything happening here at the cruise, and zinging again…" His head snaps up as he came to realize something. "Maybe I… didn't zing again. Maybe…"
He lets out an exasperated sigh and gets up from the bed.
“It’s not possible… how can it be possible?”
Drac paces back and forth running hand through his black locks and making them unkempt. Ericka looks at him all the while from her spot on the bed, the sheets tucked around her to cover her form.
“What is it?” she asks. Dracula turns around at her voice. He gazed at her intently, his eyes practically boring into her soul. Then he spoke the name that had been on the tip of his tongue. One that she had figured he would bring up.
"Martha?"
Ericka freezes. The name in her mind does ring a bell, brings her back to memories of a time far before her existence. A distant recollection of a past that is somehow rooted in her subconscious, a past that is not her own. The memories of the dreams she had flashed in her mind once more, only this time, they converge in a somewhat comprehensible timeline. She sees the date with the cockroach delectables and rich red beverage where they kissed. She sees the beach where he took her in the sand. She sees the portrait studio where she stood alongside him with a baby in her arms. And then she sees the most treacherous one, the time when the mob came and ended her life inside that burning house. The memories never felt like her own, it felt like someone had accidentally downloaded them into her consciousness. But now, he was suggesting something she would have never thought of, something that confirmed her suspicions all too well. That they were not her memories. They were Martha's . And the only logical reason she would have them would be if…
She huffed in surprise, and looked down at herself, reexamining her hands, touching her face, feeling the red birthmark atop her breast. The birthmark that was in the exact same spot where she had been stabbed in the dreams. A shiver ran through her spine.
Dracula in the meantime had moved so that he was facing her again. He put his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She slowly met his gaze. There was an intense look in his eyes, almost as if he was trying to read the thoughts going through her head. He seemed concerned about something. When he finally opened his mouth and spoke, the question was clear in his voice.
"Martha? Could that really be you?"
Ericka almost feels those tears pool back in her eyes at how hopeful he sounds and looks, especially after what he had to suffer through and witness. It wasn't fair to him, and she wanted to reassure him, confirm that she was his lost love from ages ago.
But the truth was, she couldn't.
She put a hand over his and shook her head. "No," she whispered, "it's not... not really."
Dracula's expression, as much as he tried to conceal it, still falters at hearing this. She could see the pain in his eyes as he looked away for a moment and tried to recompose himself.
“I tried,” he said. “I wanted to save her. I wanted to have her by my side for eternity. She was the light of my life. My love. My first zing. But I - “ he breaks off shakily and rubs his temples.
“Honey… I’m so sorry,” she tried consoling.
Ericka finds the silence that follows deafening. Dracula finally let out a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. "It doesn't matter anyway," he says quietly.
Doesn't matter? "But why?" Ericka couldn’t help but ask.
Her words seemed to startle him enough for him to glance at her again. His eyes seem to linger a bit longer than necessary on hers, which gives her chills.
"It doesn’t matter," he started, cupping her cheek, "because I still want to be with you. I fell in love with Ericka. I kissed Ericka. I made love to Ericka."
She blushed at his last statement, and turned her head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand.
He smiled at the contact. “And, while I still do love my darling Martha, and while you may for whatever reason somehow be connected to her - through dreams or memories or whatnot - I still love you for you , my zing. I am sorry that I ever made you doubt yourself. You are a whole different person. And I want to make my own future with that person. You… forever.”
It was just what Ericka needed to hear. She giggled softly before reaching out to caress his face with one slender finger. “You promise?” she asked somewhat tearily.
“I stake my heart and hope to die.”
Ericka laughed. “Let’s hope not .”
Dracula joined in her laughter and kissed her tenderly. She returned it, and it led to another. And another. Soon they were both enveloped in the passion of the previous night before.
He tugs the sheets away from their hold around her body, leaving her bare beneath him again. He kisses her again with passion, and she gasps as his fingers gently begin to tease the small nub at her swollen core. She is still aching from her first time, but his expression of desire that crosses his face as he looks down at her through half-lidded eyes makes the wetness in her loins return.
"Do you think you'll be up for a second round?"
Her response is a fierce kiss, bringing him down atop her. Soreness be damned. If he wanted her, she would not deny him.