Page 15 of Claimed By the Deep
"Show me the rest."
Three simple words that could change both our lives forever. Once he shows me his true form, there will be no more hiding, no more pretending he's anything close to human. He'll either accept me completely or flee in terror, and I'm not sure I could survive the latter.
"If I do, there's no going back. No pretending this conversation never happened. No returning to your simple life of salvage diving and avoiding Coast Guard patrols."
"Maybe I don't want that life anymore."
The admission hits me like a physical force. I've spent twenty years defining myself by my independence, my ability to survive alone in dangerous waters. Now I'm offering to leave all that behind for a creature I've known for less than a day. The magnitude of my courage humbles me.
"You're not thinking clearly," he says, though even as the words leave him, I know they're wrong. "You've been through trauma. Near-drowning affects judgment in ways—"
"Don't." Anger flashes through me, hot and clarifying. "Don't you dare patronize me. I'm not some hysterical woman whose judgment can't be trusted. I'm a professional diver with twenty years of experience, and I know exactly what I'm saying."
His eyes widen slightly at my outburst, but I see respect mixing with the surprise.
"I want to see you," I continue, my voice steady and sure. "All of you. Whatever you really are."
"Even if it frightens you?"
"Especially if it frightens me."
He floats in the warm water, studying my face, memorizing every detail before he potentially destroys the connection we've built. But I can see the determination in his eyes, the same courage that drives me to dive alone in restricted waters and defy authority when it suits my purposes.
"Stay on the boat," he tells me. "And remember... you asked for this." He swims backward, putting distance between us, then allows himself to sink beneath the surface.
Cyreus
SEVEN
In the depths, I stop fighting the transformation I've been suppressing all day. The human form I've worn like an uncomfortable costume begins to dissolve, replaced by my true shape.
The change is both relief and agony. Relief to stop pretending, to let my body assume its natural configuration. Agony because with each shift of flesh and bone, I move further from any possibility of passing as human.
My torso elongates, muscle and sinew flowing into new configurations. Appendages emerge from my core—dozens of them in varying sizes, each one as responsive as a hand, as sensitive as fingertips. My skin deepens to its natural dark red, burgundy undertones rippling with each movement.
This is what I am. What I've always been beneath the careful illusion of humanity.
I rise slowly, giving her time to process what she's seeing. When I break the surface, I keep my distance, ready to flee if her expression changes from wonder to horror.
But when our eyes meet, what I see in her face stops my hearts entirely.
"You're beautiful," she whispers.
Beautiful. In nearly a century on this world, no human has ever used that word to describe my true form. They've screamed, fled, convinced themselves they imagined what they saw. But she sits on her platform, leaning forward with fascination rather than fear, and calls me beautiful.
"You're not afraid," I manage to say.
"Should I be?"
"Most humans would be terrified. Your species has evolutionary fears of creatures like me."
She slides down to sit on the platform's edge, letting her legs dangle in the water. A simple gesture of trust.
"Maybe," she says. "But I've been dreaming about you for a month. This isn't exactly a surprise."
One of my smaller tentacles drifts toward her without conscious direction, hovering just beneath the surface. An invitation. A test. A plea.
"The dreams were real," she says, and it's not a question.
