Page 13 of Claimed By the Deep
"It's all I can give you right now."
Frustration edges his voice, suggesting this conversation is as difficult for him as it is for me. But underneath runs somethingelse—longing maybe, desire to tell me more than he thinks he safely can.
I reach out and touch his hand, noting again how cool his skin feels despite the warm cave air.
His expression shifts when I touch him, pupils expanding until they nearly swallow the unusual blue of his irises. That same electric awareness from the wetsuit incident crackles between us, stronger now. My fingers linger against his wrist, reluctant to break this connection.
"You're not human," I state it as fact, not a question.
"Meri—"
"I'm right, aren't I?" I move closer, looking straight into his eyes. "Are you some kind of merman?"
His face twists with genuine offense—the first unguarded reaction I've seen from him. "A merman?"
"Well, what else would you be? You live in the ocean, you swim like you were born to it, you navigate underwater caves in the dark—"
"I am not a merman." Real irritation vibrates through his words. "Merpeople are... they're fantasy creatures from human folklore. Children's stories."
"As opposed to what you actually are?"
He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, I see resignation mixed with what might be relief.
"Something far more complicated," he says quietly.
"Yes," he whispers.
The admission hangs between us like a bridge I can choose to cross or burn. My logical mind screams that this is impossible, that I'm suffering from oxygen deprivation or trauma-induced hallucinations. But my gut knows better. Everything about him, from the moment I woke up in that first cave, has been pointing to this truth.
"What are you?" I ask again, gentler this time.
"Something that shouldn't exist in your world. Something that's been hiding in the depths for longer than you can imagine."
"But you saved me."
"Yes."
"And you've been watching me for months."
"Yes."
"Because you're lonely."
My question seems to surprise him. "How did you—"
"It's in your voice. The way you talk about observing humans instead of interacting with them. You've been alone for a long time, haven't you?"
He nods, unable to speak.
"Show me," I say softly.
"What?"
"Show me what you really are. I'm not afraid."
"You should be."
"But I'm not." I float closer, close enough to see the conflict warring in his expression. "Please."
