Page 61 of Claimed By the Deep
Her release comes like a storm surge, powerful waves of pleasure pulsing through her that I can feel reverberating through the water around us. I cradle her through each crest, maintaining the perfect pressure until the final tremors subside and she collapses boneless against me.
She breathes out a soft laugh as she presses her forehead to mine. "You never cease to amaze me."
"A century of studying fluid dynamics has its advantages," I tease, kissing her lightly. "Though I find I prefer applying that knowledge to you rather than ocean currents."
"Adaptation is my specialty." I brush my lips against hers once more. "Though I look forward to less restrictive conditions when I return."
"As do I." She glances at a display on her wrist. "We have about fifteen more minutes before the suit's safety margin."
"Fifteen minutes to memorize everything about you before three weeks apart." I tighten my hold slightly. "Not nearly enough time."
"It will have to do." She traces the contours of my face with gloved fingers. "Besides, you'll be back before the houseboat is ready for launch. We'll have our home, Cyreus. Our own space where neither of us has to compromise."
"A worthy goal to focus on during my journey." I study her features in the fading light, committing every detail to memory. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too." She kisses me again, lingering despite the cold. "Be safe. Be careful. Come back to me."
"Always."
With a final touch, she rises and begins gathering her discarded clothing. I watch her for a moment longer, then slip beneath the surface, already calculating optimal routes for my journey south and mentally preparing for the complex deception ahead.
The researchers must be drawn away from these waters, away from our future home, away from Meri. Whatever the risk tomyself, the greater risk lies in allowing their investigation to continue unchallenged. They seek a mystery, an unexplained phenomenon worthy of scientific pursuit.
I will give them exactly that—just far from here, far from her, far from everything we're building together.
As I dive deeper, the winter water grows darker around me. But for the first time in decades, that darkness carries promise rather than isolation. Because now, no matter how far I travel, I have something I never had before.
A reason to return. A place to belong. Someone waiting.
Cyreus
TWENTY SIX
The coastal waters off Cape Fear shimmer under a full moon, silver light dancing across the surface like scattered diamonds. I hover twenty fathoms deep, my form perfectly still except for the gentle oscillation required to maintain position against the current. The water here tastes different from my northern territory—warmer, saltier, with traces of unfamiliar marine life and the distant echoes of coral reefs.
Eleven days since I left Meri standing on that frozen dock. Eleven nights of traveling only during darkness, keeping to deeper channels where shipping traffic thins and human observation grows sparse. My body aches from the sustained journey, but the coordinates stored in my memory pull me forward. This is the spot Fergus arranged for what he called "the main event."
I extend my sensory filaments, absorbing vibrations through the water. The cargo vessel approaches from the northeast, still seven miles out but moving steadily. Each massive propeller blade sends distinctive pressure waves rolling through thedeep—twenty-three rotations per minute, the rhythm as clear to me as a human heartbeat.
The Wandering Star, right on schedule. Before I left, Meri and Fergus had outlined every detail of this operation. Captain Ellis McPherson, Panama registry, passage at precisely 0215 hours. The old man never knew it was me who pushed his son's capsized fishing boat toward shore back in '92—he credits a fortuitous current, a story I was content to let stand. Now his debt to Fergus serves our purpose.
The irony doesn't escape me—a human I once secretly aided now unwittingly helps create a deception about my existence.
The research vessel Horizon departed Tidewash Harbor three days ago, according to our timeline, chasing phantoms I created near Maine's southern coast. I manipulated thermal boundaries where cold and warm currents meet, creating temperature inversions that appeared anomalous on their instruments. I generated electromagnetic pulses near navigation buoys, just strong enough to register on sensitive equipment without triggering automated alarms. I sculpted water movements into patterns that defied known oceanic physics.
Science demands verification. Isolated anomalies can be dismissed as equipment malfunction or environmental oddities. But multiple independent phenomena occurring in predictable sequences? That demands investigation.
Now comes the performance that will seal their misdirection.
The Wandering Star's hull pushes through waters above me, displacement creating pressure changes that travel through thedepths like thunder through air. Right on schedule. I can almost picture Captain McPherson on the bridge, checking his watch against the navigation instruments, maintaining course while pretending to notice nothing unusual.
His first mate—Javier Suarez according to Fergus's notes—stands ready with specialized equipment. The man believes he's documenting a rare marine phenomenon for a private research foundation. His payment, wired from one of Fergus's anonymous accounts, ensures his enthusiasm without compromising operational security.
I rise from the depths with deliberate, controlled movements. My primary heart accelerates, pumping oxygenated fluid faster through my system as my two secondary hearts adjust to maintain balance. Strange, this nervousness. I've avoided detection for a century, perfected the art of invisibility, yet deliberately revealing myself—even in this limited fashion—feels like swimming against every instinct I've developed.
First, the electromagnetic signature. I concentrate, directing energy through specialized cells evolved for deep-water communication. On my home world, we used these pulses to coordinate hunting parties across vast distances. Here, they register on human instruments as inexplicable energy spikes. I modulate the frequency, creating a pattern complex enough to appear deliberate but alien enough to defy categorization.
The ship's systems respond immediately—proximity alarms activating, navigation instruments flickering. I sense the subtleshift in engine vibration as crew members move toward instrument panels, voices rising in confusion.
