Snakes' Den

By Beckham Bloom

Finley's life has come to a screeching halt. Waking dazed and confused in a world of aliens, she's tossed to the wolves- or in this case- the Snakes. Unable to communicate, her new roommates are two Nathair males she can't quite seem to figure out. There are misunderstandings and embarrassing pitfalls galore as Finley navigates her new reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beckham Bloom LLC
• Release date: May 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986344409

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Among the Displaced

Snakes’ Den

By Beckham Bloom

Among the Displaced: Snakes’ Den by Beckham Bloom]

Published by Beckham Bloom LLC

Copyright © 2022 Beckham Bloom

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

ISBN: 979-8-9863444-0-9 (ebook)

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my wonderful husband- the poor soul that must have read, and reread, this book a hundred times and encouraged me to keep writing.

Among the Displaced- Snakes’ Den is a spicy romance between our human protagonist and two alien males. While the majority of this book is focused on their budding relationship and the obstacles they face, this story does include some elements that might not be suitable for some readers.

Please note that this story includes attempted rape, brief violence/blood, and- this is a big one- sexually explicit scenes. This book may not be suitable for individuals with sensitivities to these topics.

Table of Contents

Among the Displaced

Snakes’ Den

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 1

FINLEY

I’m numb. I can’t handle this anymore, and I’ve decided I’m not going to. I have no idea where I am or why; I don’t recognize any of the creatures next to me. I can't understand what I'm assuming is some form of language being grumbled and hissed around me. I'm thoroughly lost in a crowded room of creatures that didn't exist before I came to. Generally speaking, I'm a laugh instead of cry person. Still, this situation is sitting out of range for either of those options.

What I do know is that I had spent the morning at the farmers market held every weekend in an empty parking lot by the town square. The vendors are always changing, so no one’s ever around to notice that I'm there each Saturday or that I'm always alone. I got to make friendly conversation and mingle without any of the social ties study groups and coffee dates implied.

I had bought a candle that smelled like roses and had pretty little petals throughout its center; it was bouncing around in my purse with each step as I walked. Was the candle stupid expensive? Yes. Did I need another candle? No. But it smelled like flowers, and the curvy goth woman behind the counter had mommy energy and complimented my dress and…I bought the candle. I'm not the first person to make a dumb purchase because of what was probably a fantastic pushup bra, and I wasn't going to feel bad about it.

Times like that- where my wallet has been drained, and I’m sure I was super awkward- have me, for a short moment, wishing I only liked men. But then I take a moment to think about the men I've dated, and that feeling crawls right back where it came from.

It had been mid-day, broad daylight. My apartment was less than a quarter-mile away through a small and aging suburb that grew around my university's main campus. I was almost home.

And now, here I am. My lip quivers, and I'm fighting for control over tears threatening to spill; what the fuck did I do wrong? I do everything I'm supposed to. I don't go out after dark. I keep pepper spray on my keychain. I eat all my fruits and vegetables and show up to every class and study session.

I went from wondering how much longer my sock would take to fully slip off my foot in my shoe – it was already wadded up under my arch and slipping- to waking in a vessel with creatures (now that I don’t want to piss myself looking at them, I have decided to go with creatures instead of monsters), wondering why my mouth feels like cotton and tastes like vomit.

Sounds ranging from guttural growls to gurgles and hisses are all around me as these- people? -  settle randomly in clusters throughout what seems to be a massive warehouse. It didn't take me too long after waking to realize that the sounds ringing in my ears were languages.

People around me are all communicating within their groups that seem to be grouped by species. Everyone seems to go about their business as if I don't exist. I'm the only human I can see, and I'm definitely looking. Anyone to cling to, anyone that can affirm that this is real and that I'm not having some sort of mental break, would be a godsend.

Catching a break just doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

I can't say how long I've been in this room for sure, and, if I'm being honest, I don't think I've been fully cognizant for the majority of it. Moments come in short clips between what must be hours of… Well, I don't know. I don't think I've been sleeping, but I feel like I'm on autopilot. I only come online for random moments before being pushed back under.

Maybe my brain has just had enough and is forcing a reboot?

As time floats by, packs are handed out by a large and bulky reptilian sort of… I'm going to say male, but who knows. The male pauses as he's left with one remaining pack and turns as he searches the room for someone he's missed.

As his eyes pass over my corner seat the 2nd time, I raise my hand and stand. When his full attention lands on me, I feel like I've made a mistake; my knees go weak and watching his nostrils flare as he takes me in, I realize in full that I'm prey to this species. The dryness in my mouth isn't helping as my throat spasms, and I'm caught between what would be an audible gulp and a choked gasp.

Nothing about him is soft. His face is angular, with a thick ridge along his brow and a cutting snout like a lizard. His humanoid shape and blue-tinged scales aren't helping my lizard brain compute — AND that phrase has to be super fucking offensive here. Neurons may be firing, but the fact that his bicep is bigger than my face has my brain short-circuiting. His massive frame dwarfs mine so completely as he approaches; it eclipses the overhead light. Looking down at me without blinking, his unrelenting stare has me squirming like a bug under a microscope.

He sucks in another deep breath and snorts, his brow furrowing further when a shiver racks my body. Sweat’s accumulating on my brow, but I’m frozen.

Straining my neck to look up at him and blinking dumbly, I realize he's held out the package for me to take, and I'm just ogling him. He makes some noise that I assume is meant to be a question or remark, but even if I could understand, I would be too stupefied to reply.

When I fail to respond, he turns to leave without another sound. Holding the pack to my chest, my neck itches, and I feel the eyes of others watching, but some creatures have no pupils, just eyes filled with a solid color that make it impossible to be sure. Returning to my designated corner is all I can manage on my wobbly legs. When my back rests against the cold metal wall once again, I’m back offline.

My chapped lips burn as I lick them for the umpteenth time. The line we've been corralled into is moving slowly forward, and my attention is drawn to the new building at the end of the tunnel.

Realization hits me as I make it through, and my eyes are saucers on my face. The warehouse room I had been in was in a ship- like an actual space-traveling spaceship. I couldn't even tell we had been moving.

The ship is visible outside where it’s docked at a tubular gateway that reaches out to it. Entering this new space, my jaw hits my chest at the view that meets me. I've been deposited among a cluster of office-type buildings. The total area contained inside this dome is so staggering in scale I can’t make out a fraction of its features. It’s like an entire city has been captured and set adrift in space.

Above me, an impenetrable blanket of black seems ready to swallow me whole. In place of a ceiling, there's a stretching night sky above me. Interrupted at equal intervals, there are structural supports in a honeycomb pattern. The scaffolding that makes up the domed sky above me is the only thing keeping the vacuum of space at bay.

Looking into that abyss makes my head feel fuzzy with stress, and, forcing my eyes away, I narrowly escape faceplanting into the person in front of me. Keeping my eyes firmly ahead, the immediate space around me draws my eye. Utilitarian in style, the lack of color makes it look severe and harsh like it’s the alien version of brutalist architecture.

Crates and shelve units create cubicles and isles in some spaces that are clearly sectioned by use around me. Small closed-off rooms are dotted about. Every so often, I see a species that doesn't look so reptilian, but it's only a glimpse before the crowd shifts, and they're gone. Multiple species of varying size, shape, and color are moving about as if being here is completely normal.

In fact, right now, I’m queuing. For what? No fucking clue. But that’s a problem for later me. Right now, I just have to stand here politely and wait- that I can do.

RHYL

It takes a moment for my eyes to focus as the metal frame of my nest comes into view above me. Each time I wake, there's a short span of time before I can feel the cold before the weight settles in. It's a moment where I'm not here, and in that empty space, everything's as it was.

Idra's rattling breath forces me from that enticing plane as he shifts in his sleep. Sometimes I resent him for forcing me from that space, and other times grasping for him to pull me out.

The comm on my wrist shows that I'm awake before the first alarms; the biting cold settled on my scales makes my movements slow, and my bones ache. Once the bell chimes, the sector will come alive, but it takes the first half of the cycle for the station's activity to warm these lower levels.

As this is the ectotherm sector, most inhabitants struggle on some level with the cool temperatures. The dull, lifeless walls that form each small dwelling seem to suck the warmth from its inhabitants.

I’ve accepted the painful chill as an unavoidable part of living on the kindness of a regime that belongs to a distant part of the galaxy. I’ve accepted that not every need will be met or understood. How could a coalition of mammals appreciate the ache caused by the cold air that sinks into our apartment each night?

It’s not to say that I would be any better off on my own. After my planet fell to the invasion of the Taeun, being taken into the fold through the Displaced Citizen Alliance had been my only chance at survival- for all that this can be considered surviving.

My home and my people were lush and vibrant. As a people, we centered our lives around the give and take required by all life on our planet. We could have advanced among the planetary elite if we had chosen to harvest more of our natural resources. Our leaders had the wisdom to recognize that thought pattern as flawed. We didn't envy the neighboring peoples who looked down on our way of life. Their young choked on the air they had muddied, and their despondent lived in the filth they grew.

None of our principles mattered when the Taeun descended. Pushed further and further as the Federation drove them back, they came too quickly and with too many for our small military to stop. We weren’t ready on any level to defend from the chaos they brought. My people were lost before the invaders landed.

The chime of the first wake cycle alarm sounds from above the doorway, and I know I've spent enough time in bed.

With a gentle shove, I disentangle my tail from Idra's, the station won’t wait for you.

Idra’s unintelligible response is the only indication he’s heard me, but that’s to be expected- as is the displeased hiss he makes as I shift the soft padding that we use to close in our sleeping unit.

The worn-out bunk padding originally belonged to the top bunk of our sleeping unit so we could each have our own nest. It didn’t take more than a few sleep cycles before Idra elbowed his way into my nest, apologizing half-heartedly as he clamored across me, shoving his frigid tail up and around my center. If the flailing arms hadn’t shaken me awake fully, his selfish tail stealing my warmth had finished the job.

Granted that we both had chattering teeth despite the multiple blankets we had been issued, I didn’t complain. The addition of the paltry mattress as a door to our nest helped, but we still struggle with the temperatures here. We’ve added to our nest to try and keep some warmth, but nothing seems to hold.

It’s too early! Idra grumbles behind me as he pulls a hooded sweater over his head. My eyes reach the ceiling at his complaint, but if complaining makes his cycle more manageable, I won't stop him. We each have different ways of coping.

Hold your wrath, eggling. My coverings I’ve kept bundled as near as I dare to our improvised heating unit are welcome as I dress and make my way to the storage unit serving as our food store. "Would you like lemper or krua?"

"I would have a steaming bowl of ktch filled with meat and topped with eggs, and a hot stone so I can lay about as I stuff myself," he intones between a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Lemper it is." I toss the meal of grain packed around a lump of meat to Idra, who rolls his eyes despite enthusiastically tearing open the packaging. I've long since decided to find his eye rolls a form of endearment from my Cwtch, which is good. I seem to elicit them often.

Shoving the lemper in his mouth, he draws the covers back over his head and disappears under the mound. Looking over the heap of blankets, I push the frigid tip of my tail inside and run it against his core, earning a yelp before he swats me away.

Just when I think I'm going to have to extract him, a different alarm sounds, and he's halfway to the door before I can twitch. I only manage to yank his tail just before he opens the door to leave.

"Eat first. New arrivals won't be off the ship for ams."

Huffing, he begrudgingly joins me at the table. What if someone from Nadredd is there, he says around a mouthful.

"Then they will still not be getting off the ship for ams."

Narrowing his eyes at me, he takes a krua from my stack. It’s not an entirely lost cause.

It's not a question but a statement thrown out as bait; this line of thought always leads to subjects I'm unwilling to entertain. As much as I hate pushing Idra away, I won't let myself lead him on.

Instead of pushing against my silence, he smacks his tail sharply against mine. He smirks before closing the door and making his pledge, "you can pretend to be a grouchy chat all you want, but no one will believe you when you smell as sour as an aronia berry."

With that, he's out the door, and my first meal has lost its flavor.

IDRA

This cycle has gone to chat, and all the sweet ladoo in the station won’t be able to fix it. Across the counter, a Boggard is heaving with each gulping breath he takes as he insists, once again, that his rations aren’t correct.

I’ve checked and rechecked the records. I've gone through each item in his crate. Every allocated item is accounted for.

I don’t know what else to tell you. I've explained your allocations multiple times. The DCA sets the rules for allocations. If you need more, you have to submit the forms to petition your case. Either way, that's not changing what's in this box. My voice is rising by the end, and my tail begins to twitch. My response isn't calming him at all, and I almost hope he acts on the threats he’s been spewing.

Customers behind him are beginning to back away, and the noxious odor he's pushing out is burning my nose. When he starts bellowing and ranting, I'm hanging by a thread, and this counter is becoming less and less of a divider. Just before it comes to blows, Jan emerges from his office.

My boss has the uncanny ability to time his entrances for the worst possible moment. As usual, Jan’s deceiving charm seems to dissolve the Boggard's threats until he's nodding along with him.

Jan shoots me a look over his shoulder I'm pretty familiar with. I’m in for another verbal lashing.

My gums are itching when he pushes his way past me, a word Idra. Scrunching my shoulders and bunching my tail to try and fit into his cramped office space is only the warmup to what could possibly be my termination.

I help distribute allocated rations to the displaced, and I do a good job. Sure, I could have gone without informing the Boggard that his mother should have eaten him as a tadpole. Maybe calling him a sentient boil wasn't 'professional'…

But- that Boggard deserved it!

Are you HEARING ME, Nathair?! My manager's face is practically purple with exertion, and I'm hard pressed to recall precisely where he is in his tirade.

Somewhere between tagging in to collecting my work vest and manning the collection counter, the Goddess must have decided my tail was too high, and she decided to deliver her brutal blow in the form of a ridiculously unreasonable Boggard.

Boggards are one of the top species to avoid when upset. Not because of their strength or speed, but because of the horrendously foul stench they can emit. They can fill the sacks lining their dorsal spine with a noxious and thick fluid that acts as both a means of putting off competitors as well as attracting a mate. For everyone else outside the species, the mixture is vomit inducing and disturbingly clingy.

Following that same trail of luck, Jan just happened to appear at the exact moment the aforementioned Boggard was fully engorged and threatening to spray the office with his frack.

Dipping my head lower in a pose I'm hoping looks remorseful, I'm hoping to cut this short. Yes, Boss. I followed all of the steps for de-escalation from the manual, bu-

Do you have air between your flaps? This is the second time this month I have had to step away from my desk to pacify some ectotherm, and about what? Rations? Can you not handle your job?

I'm spending so much effort smothering the rattle that wants to shake my chest at his accusations. I almost miss the way ectotherm comes out like an insult. Almost. Jan like the rest of the DCA's administration is a mammal, and, like some mammals, he holds prejudice against ectotherms.

Nathair don’t have ear flaps, and he does know my name, but I’m nodding all the same. 

Before becoming a refugee, I had little to no exposure to other peoples and races. This left me sorely unprepared for working station-side. My lack of general awareness has been particularly painful with regards to Jan. Standing at full height, he doesn't reach my chest. He has skin rather than scales, but it looks so craggy and somehow ill-fitting on his frame he looks like a fledgling trapped in their molting.

A shiver of revulsion racks its way from between my shoulder blades down to my tail. Molting is a distinct type of torture.

I initially thought his skin had a molted pattern ranging from alabaster to a dark, almost black-grey, similar to the paneling shielding most of our sector. I've since learned his skin isn't necessarily patterned, but shifts based on his mood.

I’ve never seen this shade on Jan, so it seems he’s taking this misunderstanding a bit harder than usual. Which isn’t truly fair. I shouldn’t be blamed for the poor behavior of that sniveling Boggard; it’s not like I can comprehend for the delf.

Meeting his eyes briefly, I realize he's paused his tirade. He's waiting for an answer, and I've been lost trying to figure out just how much his skin can change to follow what he's said. The rise and fall of his chest is almost as alarming as the flexing of his claws. Is this range of color normal for a Bumi, or am I just extraordinarily irritating?

I assure you I can do my job Boss, but perhaps someone else can explain to that Boggard his allocation of rations, as he couldn't seem to understand that rations are assigned by the alliance and not by myself. I explained this before he accused me of flinching extra portions for myself. The frustrated rattle at the end of my speech is quiet enough that a mammal shouldn't notice and take offense.

Accusing me of stealing is not just offensive. Should a superior hear rumors against me, I would be sacked and without income before I could respond or deny. Rhyl worked hard to get me this position. I won’t allow anyone chat on our hard work.

When I'm filing paperwork in my office, I don't want to listen to a screaming match outside my door! No more! Have them sign first, then hand them the ration and move on. Don't hand them the package and then try to convince them to sign after. You're asking for problems if you think they won't take any opening to argue for more. In and out. I expect you to handle this, Nathair. I'm two heads above him, sunk onto my tail, and Jan still manages to look down his nose at me. His instructions make complete sense if you ignore the policy saying we are to have each patron confirm they got what's on their allocation list before they sign for receipt.

My fangs are trying to descend, and I'm having to clench and unclench my jaw, focusing on the gnashing of my teeth to maintain a chastened pose. As if trying to fit all 3 mets of myself inside this pint-sized room isn't challenging enough.

It’s no use arguing, I will do that next time, Boss.

Jan pauses. I think he's deciding if I've been chastised enough, and I'm knotting my tail, hoping he's feeling generous.

Before he can respond and berate me further, the alarm sounds indicating a change of shift, quickly followed by the announcement I’ve been waiting on all cycle. The new arrivals are unloading.

A breath I didn’t realize I had been holding rushes from my lungs.

Well, that's me, I blurt out a bit too enthusiastically while inching my tail through his office door. Thank you for your time…. My torso and head are all that's left in the room, and I'm almost free.

We aren’t finished! His guttural voice reverberates in the pint-sized cubby that serves as his office, but I’ve launched myself out the door before he can add more.

See you next shift, Boss! I call over my shoulder as the door swings shut.

I've got the next two cycles off, and with luck, he will have calmed by my next workshift. I mean, with a body so small, there's no way he can hold onto his rage for long -there’s no place to put it!

Thoroughly reassured, the altercation is barred from my mind before I can toss away my work vest and clear the front counter.

Chapter 2

IDRA

New arrivals!

I love seeing new arrivals; obviously it's a terrible time for them, but it's so exciting to see who comes in. Maybe someone more entertaining than our current lot with pop up- not that Rhyl isn’t great. He is. But, while he has the mature vibe of a Nathair in his late thirties that I can appreciate in a Senior, it would be great to have someone closer to my age around.

Not that I’m that young- 26 isn’t adolescent. But having someone else with my level of energy would be exciting. Or, maybe someone slightly younger, and then Rhyl can send the egg jokes their way while I look like the mature one for once. There might even be a Nathair to complete our Triad with among the newcomers.

Newcomer arrival always draws a crowd. Most are hopeful for family or even just another of their kind to