He wasn’t really used to sleeping with another person, much less a full-body octopus-cuddler with electric-eel skin like Oberon.

Not that he didn’t like it—he did—but every breath or shift brought him up against the fae’s body and woke him.

So he wasn’t asleep when the tablet pinged softly. He recognized the sound. Incoming email from Marissa.

He opened his eyes. The room was dim, but moonlight was streaming in through the window, and he could see the tablet on the bedside table. He reached for it, careful not to jostle the deeply asleep Oberon.

You should check this out when you have a chance. Be sure you’re sitting down. Maybe do a couple shots of tequila first, it said, above a link to Conner Marr’s blog.

He hesitated.

He didn’t want to think about Con right now, not in bed with Oberon. But Oberon was asleep, while Ángel was awake and curious. And the load he’d blown against Oberon’s taut abdomen was definitely the equivalent of two shots of tequila.

Wasn’t it?

He tapped the link.

Hey beautiful people, (it read)

Sorry I haven’t updated in a while, but I’ve been busy touring. That doesn’t mean I’m not working on new songs though! Maybe an EP next year, we’ll see!

I want to share with you some new lyrics. I’m sorry it’s a little raw. But you know how a broken heart can make you feel a little raw?

—Conner

“Gabriella”

You gave me your body

When I wanted your hand

You spread your legs for me

When I wanted you to stand

Gabriella

You called out my name

But only in the dark

You played me like a game

Yeah, you left a deep mark

Gabriella

All I do is think of you

All you wanted was more

All night long I think of you

All night long you needed more

All I do is think of you

Gabriella

You took my heart

But you just wanted some

You tore me apart

But you just wanted to come

Gabriella

Gabriella

Gabriella

“Fuck you too,” muttered Ángel, slapping the tablet closed and tossing it onto the floor.

He lay in the moonlight and seethed.

After a moment, Oberon stirred and patted his hands over Ángel’s body. “What’s wrong?” he said, muzzy with sleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Not nothing.” Oberon dragged Ángel into his arms, one hand splayed across his chest, reading his skin. “You’re angry. I’ve done something?”

“No.” Ángel found himself smiling. “I see the limitations of your magic-code form of communication. I’m mad, but I’m not mad at you.”