Ciaran seethed.
Sawyer’s mouth fell open, and he murmured, “Holy shit. You are.”
Ciaran inhaled deeply, Sawyer’s scent getting under his skin. He needed to tell him everything, then fate willing, they could secure the bond. They could fuck for hours, and then Ciaran might be able to think straight.
“We’re getting off-track,” he mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair. It really would be easier if he could just show him. He could take him into the Cove right now and let him see his freeform, but Sawyer had already been in the too-cold water today, and that hadn’t ended well. Plus, he’d very likely freak out and inhale water.
Human lungs were so stupid.
“The dream I had about Fraser was very different to the dreams I have about you,” Sawyer said, clearly oblivious to Ciaran’s internal tirade. “Because those dreams, let me tell ya, aren’t like any I’ve had before.”
He was still talking about the dreams....
“What...” Ciaran hedged. “What were the dreams with me about?”
“Sex,” Sawyer replied far too easily. “Really fucking hot sex.”
Ciaran let out a low hiss.
Sawyer gestured between them. “Whatever this is. This... attraction. This need to be near you. Actually, it’s more of an inability to not be near you. What the hell is that about? It has something to do with the eye thing, doesn’t it? And the kid from the pier in Hobart.” He squinted at him. “So, are you going to tell me what you are?”
“I’m trying to.”
“Let me make it easier for you,” Sawyer said. “Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Ciaran waited, his hearts thrumming to the point of pain.
“You’re not human,” Sawyer said. “I mean, you look human, but you’re not entirely human. It has something to do with the water. I don’t know what, exactly, but the water out there isn’t exactly normal either. You said you wanted to know if I’m good with weird. Well, I am. This town is weird, and while most other people can’t stand to be here—the cops before me, the fishermen, the miners from a hundred years ago—for some reason, I freaking love it here. This town feels like home to me. It calls to me. Like the water called to me, pulling me in. And I wanted to go in. I wanted to stay in there forever.”
He swallowed then, and his voice was softer when he spoke again. “Like you call to me. I want to be close to you. Even though you drive me fucking crazy, and you look at me like you hate me, I need to be near you. I want you to do to me what you do to me in my dreams. None of it makes sense, but that’s what I know.”
Ciaran stared at him.
“You’re not correcting me,” Sawyer added quietly.
“Because you’re not wrong.”
Sawyer stared at him for a long beat before blinking a few times. “A... about which... about which part? What was I not wrong about?” He paled a little and swallowed hard.
“All of it.” Ciaran winced. “You’re... you’re, uh...”
“I’m what?”
“Perceptive,” Ciaran replied. “Different. Different to other... people.”
He blinked again. “So....” He let out a sharp breath. “So you’re n-not human?”
Ciaran swallowed hard. “I am Cephic.” He couldn’t believe he was doing this, saying this. Divulging their secret. “We are an old race. Older than humans, but time is different for us.”
Sawyer stared at him, his gaze drifting down to Ciaran’s tattoo. “Cephic....”
Ciaran’s instinct was to lie, to keep the secret always, but he couldn’t lie to Sawyer. “Yes. Cephic. The word comes from ceph?—”
“Cephalopods,” he whispered. “Octopus.”
Ciaran wanted to be irritated by that, but how could Sawyer discern the difference when he didn’t yet know...
“We are cephamorphic,” he explained. “The ancient Greeks used the word Cetus, or Ketos, but throughout history, that was bastardised. Beings from the sea, yes. Monsters, no.”
