Page 25 of Claimed By the Deep
I watch as the transformation flows through him like water finding its level, his massive form shifting back into the human shape I'm getting used to. He pulls himself onto the dive platform with that fluid grace that's becoming familiar, water streaming from his body as he settles beside me.
His completely naked body.
"Oh," I manage to squeak out, my eyes going exactly where they shouldn't before I can stop them. "I, uh..."
It takes him a beat to realize what's wrong. When it hits him, his face goes red and his hands fly to cover himself.
"I seem to have lost my clothes," he stammers, looking mortified.
"Your clothes?" I'm trying really hard to keep my eyes on his face and failing spectacularly.
"The transformation doesn't... they don't survive the process. I lost them when I shifted to show you my true form." He's looking around like he expects clothes to just appear out of thin air. "I apologize. I should have thought—"
"Don't apologize," I interrupt, though my voice comes out strangled. "Just... give me a second."
I practically flee to the cabin, my face burning as I dig through my storage for the biggest towel I can find. This is ridiculous. We've been as intimate as two beings can possibly be, but somehow him sitting naked on my deck has me flustered like a teenager.
When I come back, he's sitting exactly where I left him, looking like he wants to sink through the deck.
"Here." I hand him the towel while studying a fascinating cloud formation over his left shoulder.
"Thank you." He wraps it around his waist with obvious relief. "This is why I usually stay in the water."
"Right. Makes perfect sense." I sit back down, hyperaware of his bare chest and the towel sitting low on his hips. "Totally logical."
Awkward silence stretches between us, filled only by waves slapping against Deep Pockets' hull.
"So," I finally say, clearing my throat, "you were there the whole time?"
"Every moment." The guilt in his voice is unmistakable. "Watching you call for me, seeing your pain, telling myself I was protecting you when really I was just protecting myself."
I study his profile—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers keep moving restlessly against his knee. "How long can you hold this form?"
"This form?" He glances down like he'd forgotten what he looks like.
"The human shape. Does it... hurt to maintain it?"
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, that I thought to ask. "Yes. It's painful."
The simple admission hits me harder than it should. "Then why—"
"Because this is how you know me. How you can be comfortable with me." He turns to face me fully. "My true form is... overwhelming. Alien in ways your mind isn't built to process easily. This shape lets us communicate as equals."
I think about that first transformation, how his massive form took my breath away but never scared me. "I wasn't overwhelmed."
"You were aroused," he says bluntly, making me blush again. "Desire can mask fear, make the impossible seem acceptable. But real connection—talking, understanding, building something that lasts—that needs a form you can relate to."
There's logic in what he's saying, but I can hear what it costs him. "How long have you been able to do this? Change shape like this?"
"My people have adaptive camouflage, like your octopi or cuttlefish. We can alter our appearance to blend in or mimic other species when needed." He stares at his hands like theybelong to someone else. "But this level of transformation... I learned it through decades of watching humans."
"Learned how?"
"Trial and error. Watching how you move, how you hold yourselves, how your bodies work. My first attempts were..." He pauses. "Bad. Painful. Sometimes dangerous."
I picture him alone in the depths, practicing human form with no one to teach him, no way to know if he was getting it right. The loneliness of it makes my chest ache.
"How long did it take?"
