Page 11 of Claimed By the Deep
"Right." He sounds strained. With deliberate slowness, he draws the zipper upward, his knuckles tracing my spine through the thin neoprene. Each contact point creates a circuit of sensation.
At the top, his fingers linger where the wetsuit meets my nape, tracing the boundary between fabric and skin. My body responds with a shiver that has nothing to do with temperature.
"Ready," I announce, though readiness feels distant.
Cyreus approaches the water's edge. Rather than producing diving gear I expected him to reveal, he shrugs out of his peacoat and removes his cable-knit sweater in one fluid motion.
The sight steals my breath.
His torso carries lean muscle, each contour speaking of strength earned through purpose. His skin holds that same unusual pallor I noticed in his hands, but across his chest and shoulders, it takes on an almost opalescent quality in the cave's blue-green glow.
He folds his sweater methodically, then moves to remove his jeans.
"Wait," I interject, my voice rising. "Don't you need thermal protection? The water temperature—"
"Doesn't trouble me," he replies, pausing with hands at his waistband. Genuine confusion crosses his features. "It's not particularly cold."
"It's the North Atlantic. The water barely reaches fifty degrees. Hypothermia sets in within minutes for normal people."
"The cold affects me differently." He continues undressing until he wears only dark swim shorts that have seen as much wear as his other salvaged clothing.
I struggle to process what I'm seeing. He plans to navigate freezing underwater passages wearing practically nothing, showing no concern whatsoever for the deadly temperatures.
"That's not normal," I state flatly.
"I've always functioned well in cold environments." He steps to the platform's edge with complete ease in both his near-nakedness and apparent cold immunity. "My body temperature runs differently than yours."
His non-explanation carries a tone that discourages further questioning. Honestly, maintaining focus on scientific inquirybecomes challenging when confronted with his unexpected physique, sculpted like something from classical mythology but paler, more otherworldly.
"If you're sure," I concede.
"I am." He extends his hand toward me. "The passages grow treacherous if we delay. The first section is brief," he explains. "Follow my movements exactly and trust the route even when it seems unclear. These formations have withstood centuries—they won't collapse today."
I nod, my heartbeat accelerating as we prepare. Cave diving represents diving's most dangerous discipline, requiring absolute faith in your guide. I'm about to place my life in the hands of someone I've known for mere hours.
Yet as his fingers tighten reassuringly around mine, certainty replaces doubt. Despite unanswered questions and surrounding mysteries, I trust him with my life.
"Wait." He extracts climbing rope from a rock crevice. "Safety line. The passages disorient even experienced swimmers, and if we become separated..." The unfinished sentence needs no completion.
He secures one end around his waist, then approaches to fasten the other around mine. His fingers brush my hip as he adjusts the knot. Even through neoprene, his touch registers with unexpected clarity, a momentary connection that lingers after contact breaks. The lean muscle of his forearms flexes as he secures the rope, and I find myself tracking the movement with undisguised interest.
"Comfortable?"
"Yes, it's fine." Though the rope connecting us feels far from casual. A literal lifeline.
"On three," he instructs. "One... two..."
We slip beneath the phosphorescent surface together, and the world transforms around us in ways that make everything I thought I knew about the ocean suddenly, impossibly small.
Meridian
SIX
The water embraces us and Cyreus' hand anchors mine as we slip beneath the surface. I hold my breath like he told me to, trusting that he knows these passageways better than I know the back of my boat.
The walls glow with this wild phosphorescent light, creating what looks like an underwater constellation guiding our way. The patterns seem too deliberate to be random—like the cave system itself is alive and watching us pass through.
We break into another air pocket after a thirty-second swim. I gulp in fresh air, my lungs happy for the break. This chamber feels cozier than the first, a hidden little pocket where water laps against worn stone ledges.
