Page 35 of Claimed By the Deep

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A small smile touches his lips. "You're remarkably determined."

"It's one of my better qualities." I begin preparations for departure. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"If you wish."

"I do wish." I pause to look at him directly. "Cyreus, just because I won't let you solve my problems doesn't mean I don't want you in my life. It means I want you in my actual life, not some fantasy where everything's perfect."

"I'm starting to understand." He drifts slightly away from the boat. "Go handle your responsibilities. I'll be here when you're ready to continue this conversation."

I start the engine and begin retrieving the anchor, but before departing, I lean over the stern rail once more.

"For what it's worth, the treasure offer? It's sweet that you want to care for me. Maybe we can find ways for you to do that without undermining my independence."

"I'll consider it."

"Good." I blow him a kiss. "Until tomorrow."

Cyreus

SIXTEEN

Iwatch from the depths as Meri's boat disappears toward the harbor, her running lights fading into darkness. The taste of her distress lingers in the water around me, mixed with exhaustion and what I recognize as frustration.

She's frustrated with me, though she tried to hide it behind practical concerns and gentle words. I offered her everything I could give, yet she rejected it as if I'd insulted her rather than tried to show my devotion.

I don't understand.

On Agual V, when mates bond, they share everything—resources, territory, survival itself. The stronger partner provides for the weaker, ensuring their genetic line continues and their pod thrives. It's not charity or dependence; it's the natural way of a successful pairing.

But Meri views my offers as threats to something she calls her "independence," as if accepting my help would somehow diminish her. The concept makes no sense to me. How canpartnership diminish either of us? How can love weaken rather than strengthen?

I settle onto the sandy bottom of the cove, replaying our conversation and trying to understand where I went wrong. She said I was treating her like a pet, which stung more than I expected. That wasn't my intention at all. I just wanted to solve her problems so we could focus on building our life together.

The insurance payment she's worried about equals maybe three or four pieces of salvage from the deeper wrecks I know. The Coast Guard investigation would be meaningless if she no longer needed to work the restricted waters—I could provide her with enough treasure from international zones to make her financially secure for decades.

These solutions seem obvious to me. Logical. Efficient.

So why does she refuse them?

I rise toward the surface, letting my natural glow illuminate the empty cove. Tomorrow she'll return, and we'll try again to navigate these confusing human concepts. Maybe if I approach it differently, explain how my people view partnership and sharing resources, she'll understand that I'm not trying to diminish her but to strengthen us both.

The radio chatter from her boat has been constant since she returned to harbor—voices I recognize from months of watching, people checking on her and discussing her absence. Fergus, the antique dealer who's like family to her. Charlie Morrison, the harbor master who's been handling Coast Guard questions.Other fishermen and divers who've noticed her unusual behavior.

She has a community, I realize. A network of humans who care about her wellbeing and notice when her patterns change. The thought should please me—she's not as alone as I thought—but instead it makes me uneasy.

These people will ask questions. They'll want explanations for her recent distraction, her failure to check in, the changes in her routine that my presence has caused. And what can she tell them? That she's in love with an alien creature who lives in the depths? That her equipment failures weren't accidents but the result of my careless interventions in her world?

They'd think she was suffering from decompression sickness or hallucinations. They'd push for medical evaluation, psychological assessment, maybe even hospitalization. The very community that cares for her could destroy our connection if they knew the truth.

Another problem that could be solved if she would just accept my help. If she had enough resources to disappear from their scrutiny, to create a new life that didn't need explanations or justifications, we could be together without the constant threat of exposure.

But she won't hear of it. Her pride, her independence, her need to "earn" her survival—these human concepts that make no biological sense—matter more to her than our future together.

I spend hours circling the cove, trying to understand these alien ideas that seem to matter so much to the woman I love. Independence. Self-reliance. Pride in earning one's way rather than accepting what's freely offered. None of it exists in my culture, where survival depends on collective effort and resources are shared according to need.

But I'm not in my culture anymore. I'm in hers. And if I want to build a life with Meri, I need to understand what motivates her choices, even when they seem illogical to me.

As the night deepens, I begin thinking of a new approach. Maybe instead of offering to solve her problems completely, I can find ways to help that respect her strange need for autonomy. Maybe instead of presenting complete solutions, I can offer resources she can use in her own way.