“Yes?” said Oberon. “Brave little humans menaced by a horrible monster. Somehow it took me a long time to realize that The Thing is me.” His voice resonated bafflement. “And in the legends, we lie and steal children and lure men to their deaths. Still, I thought it would be obvious, as time went on, that I am not a violent predator masquerading as a man. And the nickname Oberon seemed encouraging. Until I read the play.”

“Not a Midsummer Night’s Dream fan?”

“He drugs his wife to humiliate her, because she doesn’t obey him.”

Good point. “Uh,” said Ángel. “I guess we think your morality is different from ours.”

Oberon only sighed.

Maybe Oberon was just lonely. Maybe he wasn’t angry, demanding, or critical. He was just desperately alone.

Ángel . . . sort of wanted to touch him.

It was crazy—Oberon was not human, for God’s sake, not a man. But why should that matter so much? Had he been brainwashed by all those monster movies? Is that what Oberon was trying to tell him?

“Brave little humans menaced by a horrible monster.”

Was it so wrong, to want to comfort a fellow creature?

Stop kidding yourself. Oberon had the body of an Olympic gymnast and smelled like an unholy combination of freshly baked gingerbread and sweat, and if he wasn’t also terrifying, if he wasn’t also not human, he’d be fuckable as hell. Was comfort really what Ángel wanted to give him?

Maybe comfort was what Oberon wanted, though. Not sex at all. Maybe that was just Ángel’s deviance.

God, Oberon smelled good. He closed his eyes and took in the spicy odor that rose from Oberon’s body. He felt light-headed and sensual, and he wondered if Oberon’s scent was acting on him like a drug. That would explain why he was tempted to reach out, right now, and touch Oberon’s arm. Oberon was fully clothed. Ángel wouldn’t have to touch his skin at all; he could wrap a hand around the powerful bicep, damp with sweat.

And then he remembered the way it had felt, the one time Oberon’s skin had touched his—different, different—and he shivered, and his cock throbbed.

“I don’t think most humans think of you that way,” he said. But Oberon didn’t reply, and Ángel knew it was inadequate, given how he had reacted when Oberon had touched him.

At noon someone sent down a tray of banh mi sandwiches and bottled water. “I have seen a video of you on YouTube,” said Oberon, picking up a sandwich.

“Oh? The one with the gull?”

“Yes.”