Chapter Two
Dray
I am the unluckiest shifter on earth.
Dray sat on crinkling paper, staring at tile with more cracks than he had common sense. It hadn’t worked. The Plan B hadn’t done shit for him. Compatible species, fresh heat, and a youthful vigor meant that sperm went where sperm wanted. And there was nothing that could be done.
“So, I take it there’s no alpha in the picture?” The kind woman sitting before him twisted her lips, not saying what she wanted between the lines. That Dray was dumb. That the laws were archaic, that Dray was a whore, or—
“They get away with anything, don’t they? They make the laws, and we bear the consequences.” She shook her head. Dray almost fainted in relief.
“So, with reptiles, even the females have to come to us, so there’s no shame, dear. Omegas do it alone all the time. It’s going to be a bit different from a normal pregnancy. Did you get a good education? You know about the egg, right?” She stared at him hopefully, asking rather than assuming.
“Yeah. We lay eggs that rupture upon birth, or even a week or so later depending on how ready the babe is to see the world.” Dray glanced at her to make sure he was correct.
“Yep. So, labor will hit suddenly, and when it does, you have about thirty minutes before you go into a trancelike state—” She gave me a meaningful look.
“I’ll talk with my roommate and my father. I’m sure between them I can set up a safety net.” Dray leaned forward, head in his hands.
“We have our own safety network. Without a mate, we can set you up with a clinician on call that specializes in omega deliveries. It may not be the one you interview with, but once you call, they’ll come.
We have trained specialists in every city and about 80 to 90 percent of the US has coverage of some form within an hour.
” She dug through a folder and handed me a map of the covered areas, no actual written information other than shaded zones, as a lot of printed media for shifters needed to be kept quiet.
Humans knew to some degree, but legally they weren’t allowed to divulge to keep segregation from coming about.
Witch hunts and all that. Most humans, though? Peacefully oblivious.
“Do you at least know what the alpha’s species was?” She gave Dray a hopeful look.
“Snake. Definitely snake.” He cleared his throat.
“That’s fairly specific. Most can only tell by scent and tell reptile or not.” She hummed. “But you don’t have any way to contact him?”
Dray shook his head. “Nope. Never got his name.”
“So, how are you certain he’s a—”
Dray gave her a purse-lipped look. “I’m sure.”
“Oh.” Her lips formed a soft O. Snake penises were very recognizable. That hemi-pene’d split and stretch in lieu of a knot or flare some shifters had. Even other reptiles didn’t have it as pronounced and prickly as snakes did.
“Well, we definitely have little to worry about when comes time for your birth. Your body should know what to do, but call us and have someplace safe to birth.” She huffed. “There’s also housing if you need.”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Dray exhaled slowly, staring at a little print in his hands. The tiny little guy…maybe gal? He didn’t know. The tiny whatever hadn’t asked for it to happen.
And with that, he left with a folder of paperwork and a bottle of prenatal vitamins. He texted Rick to tell him the news.
Well, we just renewed the lease, dude, so I’m stuck with you. We’ll make it work.
Dray wanted to cry. He didn’t deserve friends that good.
***
Four Months Later
Dray sat in his rolling chair, turning circles as he cleaned his equipment and rewrapped his tattoo gun in sterile grip tape.
The low swell of his belly hidden in his hoodie was an attestation of his condition. “Third generation single dad. Woo!”
Dray had never known his father, nor his grandsire.
Being fertile and fuckable only carried an omega so far in the snake community, and he had no idea who the alpha was.
Being drunk as fuck and in heat was a horrid combination.
As the clock ticked past five, he sighed, the last person left working on a Tuesday.
Especially on a rainy Tuesday. Nobody got tattoos on a rainy day.
Still, the moment he knew he was pregnant, he doubled his hours and didn’t turn away anyone. Dray’d done some questionable tattoos that he only hoped wound up in prison sooner or later. If someone wanted ink, they’d get it.
Dray needed money to take time off, to get baby stuff, to get his own place, to start a good life.
His boss had a contact at a daycare that would give him a hefty discount, but he still needed more.
He wouldn’t raise his kid as poor as he had been.
Ever. Dray’d even been toying with the idea of moving to a cheaper area.
People needed tattoos everywhere, didn’t they?
Poring over his phone for a new locale, he almost missed the doorbell.
A rather straightlaced alpha came in, his shirt a crisp button-up, skin a beautiful golden canvas of untouched flesh. Frat boy on a dare?
Dray sniffed. Alpha. Snake. Attractive. Slight acrid scent of electronics. Tech bro celebrating a big moment.
“Let me guess, your company went public, or you’ve got a billion-dollar sale.” Dray half smiled at the alpha and earned a blink of surprise.
“I got some offers but nothing in the billions. Do I look that out of place?” He had something in his hand, fingers toying with it nervously.
“Big-time. By the time someone gets to me, they’re a tattoo veteran. What can I do you for?” Dray blinked in surprise when the man handed him a familiar token. One to an old, dusty gachapon machine that had been in the shop for ages, since he’d started.
“Someone gave me this. Told me to get whatever tattoo the machine says. Life’s been kinda shitting on me, so I thought, hey, why not?
” The alpha grinned, obviously no clue what the machine was.
The machine led shifters to their mates, supposedly.
They’d draw a capsule out; a stencil within would be slapped wherever they wanted; and bam—if they took the ink, a mate they’d get.
Supposedly.
Dray didn’t believe in mates. Not for snakes at any rate. They were solitary creatures, locking up in the winters for hibernation and mating briefly before fleeing their burrows.
“You know the rules?” Dray drummed his fingers on the counter as the male shifted nervously, eyes lingering on his face, nostrils flaring.
“Don’t touch?” He grinned and Dray pushed from around the counter, sabotaging his flirting. He tugged on his hoodie enough for the alpha to see the outline of his stomach.
“Eh. Let me do my work. You tip what you think is fair. You get what you get or nothing at all. If it says you get a pink balloon animal made of tied-up dicks, you get that, got it?” Dray stared him down, and the utter defeat in the alpha’s eyes made Dray almost feel bad for him.
“Yeah. Go for it. Nothing to lose.” He gestured toward Dray with the token, and he guided the male to deposit it, watching as he turned the knob and it spat out the capsule. He handed it to Dray, who cracked it open to find his own artwork on a stencil.
As far as Dray knew, he’d never put art in that machine, nor had anyone loaded or unloaded it since he’d started working there. Hell, Kirk, the boss, didn’t even know where his key went to. It was a running joke.
The piece in question was a sketch Dray had done of his shifted form, a black snake wound around black roses. “An indigo snake…”
The male stared at it and shuddered. “Rules are rules. I’ll be the first rattler to get an indigo on me, I guess.”
Still, Dray stared at it, heart thumping. The machine picked mates. And Dray shrugged as if it were nothing to have the Grim Reaper of American snakes on him. “Rattler, huh?”
“Yep. Tripp Wells.” He grinned, and Dray stood in place, heart clenching tight. Would this alpha be his mate, here only to find him pregnant with another alpha’s child? Would they part never to see each other again? Or would Dray lead him into the arms of another indigo?
“I drew this. An indigo snake. I’ve drawn a lot of them, seeing as I am one.
” Dray dropped the morsel of knowledge and Tripp stared him down with a half grin, eyes wandering to his hands, as if they held particular interest. Something registered, and disappointment followed. “It’s meant to be a chest piece.”
“Scary.” He chuckled nervously and eyed the depiction again, the black snake, the roses, all the intricate details. The piece could easily take Dray six sessions, considering its size.
“Only if you want it to be. The scientific name of indigo snakes means the Lord of the Forest. In dreams, it symbolizes renewal, big change.” As Dray spoke, the alpha searched up something on his phone. “Emotional healing.”
“Oof. That hits home.” Tripp followed Dray as he led him back, wondering if he’d get his tip. Money was money. The dude could afford it, and if Dray had to get a little handsy with the alpha to get the cash—so be it.
“They say it means wisdom, too, but, hah.” Dray pulled paper over his bench from the roll atop it and gestured the alpha up. Unspoken, the male unbuttoned his shirt and removed the whole thing, setting it aside neatly.
He was lickable, every inch of him smooth and golden, hairless as snake alphas were. Dray wanted to do the tattoo while straddling his lap, but that wasn’t going to happen. Tripp huffed and crossed his arms over his chest to distract Dray. “Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” He glanced up guiltily.
“Like you want to do things to me.” Tripp scooted up the table and frowned.
“And if I do?” He rolled his eyes and pulled out the stencil transfer and antiseptic cleaner to prepare his skin.
“Don’t you have an alpha waiting back home?” He gestured toward Dray’s belly, and the omega cringed.
“No, I don’t.” He didn’t expound, but that seemed to only invite more questions as Dray cleaned the male’s chest, giving perfunctory swipes of cleaner with a paper towel.
“He ran off?” The alpha’s guilty question made Dray flinch.
“You could say that. Went into heat at the wrong place, wrong time. Brought home a party souvenir.” Most shifters understood that. Omegas in heat had less control. “It hit me early, and I’d been drinking.”
Tripp had a complicated look on his face.
“Don’t you look at me like that!” Dray glared as he popped on a pair of black nitrile gloves. Why black? They looked cooler and didn’t show blood or ink.
“What?” He held up his hands.
“Like you want to plow a pregnant omega! Like you feel sorry for me.” Dray scowled.
“S’not like you’re getting more pregnant. You’re cute, and I do feel sorry. Biology is a bitch, and alphas can just walk away never knowing what they did.” He huffed, and Dray turned away to portion out ink cups with a grimace.
“Fair. So, what’s your story?” Dray set the cups up and picked an outlining needle up, still in its disposable packaging.
“Walked in on my fiancée bouncing her ass on some other dude. In my apartment, in our bed. Took almost all the furniture. Pillowcases… Left me with the raw dog pillows.” He wrinkled his mouth as Dray hissed.
“Ouch. At least they took the mattress.”
Silence stretched, and Tripp’s lips flattened into an unpleasant moue.
“Oh, noooooo!” Dray covered his mouth and fought a snicker. “Did you sleep on it?”
“Fuck, no. I slept in the bathtub, drunk as hell until a new one and furniture could be delivered.” He laughed with such self-depreciating ease. “At least I have webcomics.”
“Good choice. What if they fucked in the shower?” Dray waved his tattoo gun as he mounted the needle.
“I smelled the guy, and he did not shower.” He shuddered and Dray slapped the stencil on before focusing on not laying it crooked. Though, Dray knew he could do the tattoo freehand and blindfolded.
“Is it going to hurt?” Tripp met Dray’s eyes, genuine worry in his expression.
“Isn’t that the point? Nobody gets tattoos because they feel good…
Unless it’s women. What the fuck is up with that?
Gals sleep during it!” Dray shook his head and fanned the stencil before going in with a pen to correct any spots the stencil didn’t transfer well.
“Want me to give you a little buzz somewhere without ink?”
He held up his arm, and Dray leaned over with his gun, giving a few strokes that made him frown but not wince. “Tolerable.”
“Good job.” Dray held the gun and dipped it into the ink. “You sure?”
“Sure, as I’ll ever be!” He took a deep breath.
“You sure, you’re sure?” Dray buried his guilt. It could be any indigo snake. And besides, even if they were mates, Dray wasn’t…fit. Rattlesnakes were assholes about indigo snakes and cobras. Anything that ate other snakes, really.
“Go for it! Want me to pick where you start?” The grin that stretched over Tripp’s face made Dray’s heart clench.
“Do it.” Dray glanced as he pointed to the snake’s face.
“Right on the boopable snoot.” Tripp offered a peek of fang in his grin. “You can’t boop a rattlesnake’s snoot.”
“I can.” Dray reached over and tapped Tripp’s lower lip, an ordinarily dangerous proposition with rattlesnakes. Tripp jerked back, whipping his head away with a panicked glance. “Dude, don’t risk that!”
Dray flinched as Tripp’s hand snatched out, pressing to his belly almost protectively. “You’re playing with more than your life, here.”
“I’m not playing with anyone’s life.” Dray rested a hand over Tripp’s and didn’t push it away.
The gentle touch was something he’d not had before, not even from friends.
Everyone viewed his pregnancy as a misfortune, something to apologize over.
The comfort of an alpha touching him made every inch of Dray relax until he fought tears.
“Indigos are immune to rattlesnake venom.”
“Oh.” Tripp pulled his hand back, but he didn’t apologize, and Dray appreciated it. “Is it weird that I liked that? I mean not in a weird sex way, but in an it-was-nice, way.”
“Yes.” Dray put his pen down and drew the first line to trace the little snake’s face, and if he made the lip line a little tilted, almost smiling, none would be the wiser.