“We have our own safety network. Without a mate, we can set you up with a clinician on call that specializes in omegadeliveries. 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 softO. 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.
