Page 23 of Claimed By the Deep
On the first day, I nearly surfaced when she said my name. The sound carried down through the water like a prayer, and every instinct I possess urged me to respond. But I forced myself to remain hidden, telling myself it was for her own good.
She deserves better than a creature who nearly killed her through selfish carelessness. Better than someone whose very touch endangers her. Better than a being so desperate forconnection that he would claim her without fully explaining what that means.
The second day was worse. I could sense her growing distress, hear the frustration building in her voice as she attempted diving, then abandoned the effort when the water yielded nothing. Every part of me wanted to wrap her in my arms, to show her I hadn't truly left.
But I stayed in the shadows, watching her pain and telling myself it was temporary. That she would heal from our brief connection and return to her normal life. That I was protecting her from a choice she couldn't fully comprehend.
I was wrong.
Yesterday, when she spoke with the human male on the dock—Fergus, whose presence I sometimes sense when the wind carries his scent—I heard something in her voice that created a painful tightness in my chest. The same loneliness that has defined my existence for nearly a century. The same desperate search for connection that drove me to enter her dreams.
I am not protecting her. I am destroying her.
When she returned for the third time, I followed her approach with growing concern. She moved differently, spoke differently. Hope was draining from her, replaced by resignation that tainted the water surrounding her boat.
I couldn't bear it.
I rose closer to the surface than I had dared, close enough that my movement disturbed the water near her stern. When she rushed to the rail and whispered my name, I nearly revealedmyself completely. The longing in her voice nearly shattered every rational thought I had about maintaining distance.
But fear prevailed. I retreated to the depths before she could see me, leaving her with nothing but ripples and false hope.
Now, I sense her approaching again. This visit carries a different quality. Something final. As if she has reached a decision that will change everything between us.
I rise carefully, staying deep enough to avoid detection but close enough to hear her clearly. Her boat appears overhead, the familiar silhouette of Deep Pockets cutting through the surface swells.
She cuts the engine and drops anchor. No eagerness, no anticipation. Just the methodical actions of someone completing necessary procedures.
For long minutes, she sits in silence. Her scent reaches me through the water—salt and woman and something uniquely hers, now layered with a sadness that creates an ache within me.
When she finally speaks, her voice has changed. Quieter. Resigned.
"I don't know if you're real," she says to the water. "I don't know if any of it happened. But if it did... if you're listening..."
She pauses, drawing a shaky breath.
"I understand why you haven't come back. Maybe what happened between us was just... adrenaline. Or gratitude. Or me projecting something onto a near-death experience." Her voice steadies, as if she's rehearsed these words. "Whatever it was, I get it. You don't owe me anything."
The pain in her voice is unbearable. She believes I've rejected her. That our connection meant nothing. That I saved her life only to abandon her when she sought meaning in what we shared.
"I just want you to know that it meant something to me," she continues. "Even if it was all in my head, even if I imagined most of it... it was the most real thing I've ever felt. So thank you. For whatever it was."
No. She has it completely wrong. What we shared was the most profound experience of my very long life. The first time in a century that I felt truly connected to another being. The first time I understood what my people mean when they speak of bonding—finding another soul that complements your own.
But she believes I used her and discarded her.
I cannot let her leave believing that.
I rise slowly through the water, my three hearts racing as I approach the surface. Every rational thought warns me this is a mistake, that I should let her go and accept the solitude that has been my companion for so long. But the sound of her pain overrides every logical argument.
She deserves the truth. Even if it drives her away permanently.
I break the surface twenty feet from her boat, keeping only my head and shoulders visible. Human enough not to frighten her, but clearly myself.
Her breath catches when she sees me, her knuckles whitening where she grips the rail. For a moment, neither of us speaks.We simply stare at each other across the water that has both connected and divided us.
"You came back," I say, my voice cracking with emotion I haven't allowed myself to feel for three days.
"You were here," she replies, accusation mingling with relief in her tone. "You were here the whole time, weren't you?"
