Chapter Eight
Dray
“Important email?” Dray glanced over his food.
Tripp had bought him so many corn dogs. He really did have an alpha’s protective instinct, the good kind. And he was sweet, thoughtful, and despite him staring at his email like a nervous college kid waiting for his grades, attentive. He listened, and that was a lot.
“S-something like that. Apologies.” Tripp pushed his phone back into his pocket before handing Dray a wristband for a round of golf. They stuck the Tyvek paper bracelet on, a dull white thing with no markings. “So, golf? Are you any good at it?”
“No, but that’s not the point.” Dray chomped down on a crispy bullet of meat, bread, and calories with a hum of delight. The oil had history, and all of the flavors overwhelmed the mediocre chicken-meat frozen corn dog.
Tripp bit into his. “I haven’t played it since I was a kid.”
“What was that like?”
“I caught the putter on the fake grass, and the owner made my dad pay for the damage when it ripped up, and when we went back months later, they’d still not fixed it.” Tripp huffed. “Milked my parents for over a hundred bucks and scarred me for life.”
“You seem to have gotten over it. Both parents in the picture?” They’d never really talked about family, aside from Tripp and his father having a complicated relationship.
“Yeah. Dad’s a rattler, Mom is an emerald tree snake. They do the whole country club bullshit. I have four siblings. I’m the youngest.” Tripp shrugged and took another bite of his corn dog. He seemed to not hate it, so there was that. “You?”
“My omega father comes around from Florida once or twice a year. He’s an indie. Dunno what my dad was… Runs in the family, I guess.” Dray shrugged and took another bite, freezing when Tripp reached out with a napkin to wipe a smear of mustard away from his lip. “Thanks.”
“Everyone has it differently.” Tripp didn’t seem to mind the backstory.
“Lots of stepdads. I won’t repeat the cycle.” Dray kept himself quiet and didn’t look at Tripp after the admission.
“Makes sense.” Tripp took another bite. “I went to UCF for college, computer sciences, startups, and all that. How’d you get into tattooing?”
“I was an artist growing up and signed up for an apprenticeship when I turned eighteen. Kirk took me in and showed me the ropes. I had real potential. Worked as a piercer for a while. That was three years ago.”
“Oh, so you’re three years younger. You just turned twenty-one when that happened, didn’t you? Finally got the right to drink and then wham.” Tripp huffed and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t have to rub it in,” Dray said, shaking a corn dog at Tripp. The alpha leaned forward and took a bite out of the end of it.
“Ugh! My corn dog! Rude!” Dray stared at the neat bite taken out and yelped when Tripp leaned forward, engulfed the entirety of it, and closed his lips, eyes hooding as his cheeks hollowed.
Dray could imagine that mouth on his di—Tripp pulled back and left a clean stick, swallowing with one throat-squeezing gulp. Perks of being with a snake.
Tripp licked his lips. “Wouldn’t dare rub things in. It just means that if we’re together, you’ll need some freedom to go out and explore yourself some.”
“And wind up dicked down by another random alpha.” Dray scowled, and Tripp rolled his eyes.
“You won’t make that mistake again. Besides, you don’t look for dicking when you have dick at home, a dick that knows what you like.” Tripp had a point. A very good point.
“And you know what I like?” Dray frowned.
“I know you like Scream Queen comics. I saw your ankle tattoo and started reading it. I’m on season four.
Have you read Dungeon Emperor?” Dray cleaned up their mess and packed the napkins and smeared mustard away into a neat pile before turning to a nearby trash can to toss it.
He left a few bucks on the table for the cleaner, and they rose as one.
“I did! I read all of it but it’s on hiatus.” Dray perked up quite a bit. In all the time they’d spent together, he’d known Tripp read comics, but not which ones or if even if they had much in common.
“I know. I reached out to the artist and offered them some part-time work with better pay and less stress so they could work on the comic more. No response.” Tripp huffed, and Dray thought the gesture rather cute.
“So, you’re that nice to everyone?”
“If you have the resources, you help others. My mom taught me that. Dad is a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to money, but Mom didn’t come from a wealthy family. They had connections, but no capital, but she was unendingly generous.”
“Was?” Dray hesitated.
Tripp sighed heavily. “Politics. She just stopped having her own opinions and went with my dad and started parroting social media shit. It’s why I got into the algorithm manipulation.”
“Ahhh. Speaking of… Have you been boosting our social media pages or something? I’ve noticed lots more traffic and bookings of late.” Dray stared at him accusatorily and Tripp didn’t meet his gaze.
“That’s an odd thing to accuse me of.” He cleared his throat.
“Uh-huh. You really are a sweetheart.” Dray shook his head and picked out a putter and a ball from a rack by the wall where a disinterested teen clocked their bands.
They opened the door to the sea of black and neon colors around them, and when Tripp entered, he stared at his wristband as the company’s logo lit up from the paper.
He stared at it like he’d never seen blacklight reactive ink before.
And if Dray wasn’t mistaken, something sad made his eyes go hard and passed away.
Dray reached for his hand and held it, fingers curling over his own. Rows of scales that he’d doodled over himself lit up from his flesh, a testament to his pride in his own snake heritage.
Tripp froze, his body stiff as a board until he reached for Dray’s hand, turning it back and forth in a mesmerized yet familiar way. “I think I’m going to be sick…”
He stumbled back, dropped his putter, and left from the door as the attendant told him that it was an entrance only. He ran toward the bathroom, and the door slammed, leaving Dray alone, full of questionable corn dogs…and someone else’s kid.
Dray stared at his scales, remembering that night in the club, the way the alpha that took him had fawned over those tattoos.
It’d been a highlight of the evening. Just the wonder in his eyes, the way he adored the artwork.
He left through the entrance as the woman complained at him, but Dray only gave her the finger and sat down on a nearby bench.
“As I told your boyfriend there, this is an exit only and if you want to go back in, it’ll be another entry fee each!” She glared.
“Or I could call the health department. Those corn dogs made him sick.” Dray sneered and idly wondered if Tripp had an intolerance. Snakes normally didn’t get sick like that.
The woman had surprisingly little to say after the remark, and Dray waited…and he waited.
After twenty minutes, he sent a text asking if Tripp was alright.
We need to talk. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Tripp’s text made Dray’s heart fall and tears stung his eyes. He wondered what he’d done. Was he too prickly? Too coy? Did he not put out soon enough? Did he miss a social cue, or were his tattoos a problem?
A moment later, Tripp came out, hands still damp—thank goodness. His face was a mask of tragedy, and he grabbed his arm, not forcefully but certainly not with the gentle care Dray’d come to expect.
“Tripp? Did I do something—”
“No.” His hard voice cracked in his throat, and they made their way to his car, where he opened Dray’s door for him, let him in, and ran around before starting the car to turn on some gentle heat that was much appreciated. “It’s something I did. We did. I—”
He slumped over his steering wheel and handed his phone to Dray. It was an email chain with the club he’d gone to, security footage, and pictures of him in the crowd—really wasted.
“You were trying to find the guy for me?” Dray’s heart fell. He didn’t particularly want whoever it was. Not after he ran like he did.
“Play the video.” He half sobbed and kept his head down. “I’m so sorry.”
Dray hit play, and a grainy security footage showed a very drunk Tripp swaying hand in hand with Dray, a messy kiss, a hastily entered door code, and then eight minutes later, him leaving, Dray following. It felt like a lot longer. But only eight minutes? Seriously?
Wait. Dray’s mind spun. He had so few memories of the night. They’d gone to the bathroom together. They’d had sex. They— Oh goddess.
And why is his only issue that they only lasted eight minutes? Knowing Tripp was the father… “How long have you known? That’s why you were so nice!”
Dray reached for the door handle, and Tripp rested a hand on his knee before unlocking the door.
“You can run if you like. I promise. The door is unlocked. I—I wanted to know who it was that I had sex with. That tattoo… I didn’t figure it out until I saw in the putt-putt place. That—”
“That’s why you freaked out. Oh, my goddess… So how did you end up with the token?” Dray stared at the dashboard of the car, heart thundering in his chest.
“Dragon bartender gave it to me and said to get a tattoo to change my life around.” Tripp shrugged as if that were normal.
“That machine doesn’t just dispense tattoos, Tripp. That machine tells you who your mate is.” Dray leaned back, chest heaving. “I’ve never seen it at work before… I— Wait, a dragon?”
He nodded.
“About six foot five, weird hair that’s this side of fake black but reflective almost, and eyes that can stare through walls?” Dray locked the door to show Tripp he wasn’t going to run. Good on him for not trapping me, though.
In the car, at least.
He’d already been baby-trapped.
“Yeah?” Tripp stared at Dray, his face an utter mask of anguish.
“Bartender… Should have known. That’s one of Kirk’s mates. Their omega.” Dray laughed heavily. “That bastard!”
Tripp kept staring like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I honestly didn’t know until I saw your scales. They’re so—”
“Beautiful.” Dray cut him off and shook his head with a huff. “Thank the goddess.”
Tripp halted and froze when Dray leaned across the center console and kissed him like his life depended on it.
The alpha melted as salt mingled into their kiss, tears from both of them.
A hand reached out to slip under Dray’s hoodie, snaking over his belly.
The kiss was soft, what they both needed, no sex or urgency.
A bonding kiss that soothed their souls.
The connection they shared was complete.
“I was wrong.” Dray laughed as he pulled away.
“About what?”
“The kid is yours.” Dray covered his face. “I’ve not been with anyone else for months before that or since. I promise, but definitely hook me up with a paternity test, okay? It’ll make things real.”
“Okay. Anything you want.” Still, Tripp didn’t move his hand.
“So, what do we do, now?” Dray sank down in the seat, enjoying the touch that had always felt right since he did it the first time.
“Go house shopping and introduce you to my family?” Tripp’s shoulders pinched in that they’re not going to like you way.
“That’s going to go over like shit.” Dray huffed.
“And if they have one foul word to say about you or anything… They can go fuck off. I’m the only rattler out of all my siblings. If they want family genes to pass on and stick—they got me.”
Kinda hot. The prospect of family would be hotter, though.
“Wait, house shopping?” Dray froze.
“I can afford one. I just… I just haven’t found a reason to…
What’s your dream home? What do you want to do?
We need to move fast because you’re due in a few months, and I don’t have anything ready.
We need a yard and—” Tripp had this mental list roiling in his head like he’d been planning on stepping up for Dray from the beginning.
Dray gripped his hand through the hoodie and sighed. “I always wanted a house with creepy woods nearby and a weird attic or a murder basement.”
“Ohhh, murder basement…” Tripp brightened. “Like in the Devil of Wastermier?”
That webcomic was one of Dray’s top ten comfort reads. “Exactly.”
“Okay, but we need a cursed doll. Where would I get one on short notice?” He frowned, and Dray knew he’d found the right one.
Dray thumbed his phone and sent a text out to Kirk. Fuck you.
Three dots appeared at the bottom.
Told you the machine never lies.
Dray doubted that the machine did anything special. It was all a coy old omega dragon, his two horny bear mates, and their freaky connection to the magical underworld. Or Bosco was dabbling with his runes again.
The dragon had magic, but even his fortunes and little charms weren’t enough for this.
Eh, do you really care at this point? Fate has a way it likes things done.
Dray frowned as he and Tripp debated on playing mini golf and decided to go to his apartment instead.
Fair point. Know any creepy houses for sale nearby?
You know, my other mate just might know a place. Kirk had something for everyone.
And it was always what they needed.