Page 15 of Accidentally Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #1)

The glow beneath my skin brightens at his words, betraying the surge of emotion they provoke. "Jake, I cannot—"

"Cannot what?" He reaches out, trailing his fingers along my arm, leaving trails of brighter luminescence in their wake. "Cannot admit that you'd keep me if you could?"

"That is not my decision to make," I say, though the words feel hollow even to me.

"But if it was?" Jake presses, his hand moving to rest on my chest, directly over the brightest point of my bioluminescence. "If it was just up to you, no Council, no protocol, no duty. Would you want me to stay?"

I should lie. I should maintain professional distance. I should remember my responsibility to my people.

But with his hand on my skin and his eyes holding mine and the empathic bond thrumming between us, I cannot bring myself to speak anything but truth.

"If the choice were mine alone," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, "I would keep you with me always."

The admission hangs between us, as tangible as the water surrounding our bodies. Jake's expression softens, and through our connection, I feel a surge of something warm and bright.

"That's all I needed to hear," he says, and then he's kissing me, his body pressing against mine in the warm water.

I should resist. I should remember the countdown. I should focus on the assessment.

Instead, I pull him closer, one hand tangling in his hair while the other traces the curve of his spine. The kiss deepens, and I taste the coffee on his tongue, bitter and sweet at once, like this moment between us.

When we finally part, both breathing harder, Jake rests his forehead against mine. "We still have fourteen hours," he says. "Let's not waste them by pretending we don't care."

"What happens when the fourteen hours are over?" I ask, the question that has been haunting me since I woke.

Jake is quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that make my bioluminescence flare and pulse. "I don't know," he admits finally. "I just know I'm not ready to say goodbye."

The admission both soothes and sharpens the ache in my chest. "Nor am I."

We float together in silence, the gentle current of the pool swirling around us. Jake's head rests on my shoulder, his body partially supported by mine, our empathic connection humming with emotions too complex to name.

"Tell me about your world," Jake says suddenly. "Not the official research stuff. Tell me what you love about it."

The request surprises me. No one has ever asked what I love about my homeworld. It is simply... home. But as I consider the question, I find myself wanting to share these things with Jake.

"The sky," I begin. "It differs from Earth's. The atmospheric composition creates sunset colors that have no equivalent in your language. Purples deeper than your oceans, golds more vibrant than flame."

Jake makes a small sound of appreciation. "I'd like to see that someday."

The casual statement sends a ripple of longing through me. The image of Jake witnessing our sunset, standing beside me as the twin moons rise over the western sea, it creates a vision so perfect it almost hurts to contemplate.

"The cities are built both above and below the water," I continue, allowing myself to indulge in the fantasy that he might someday see them. "Some structures rise from the ocean floor to break the surface, while others float on massive platforms that can be submerged during storms."

"Do you live underwater or above it?" Jake asks, his fingers still tracing idle patterns on my skin.

"Both. My dwelling has chambers in both environments. Most Nereidans prefer to sleep underwater, though."

"Is that why you were so comfortable in my bed? Because it's not your usual sleeping arrangement anyway?"

The question contains a level of perception that continues to surprise me. "Perhaps. Though I found I... enjoyed the weight and warmth of you beside me."

Jake smiles against my shoulder. "Good to know. Do you have family there?"

The question seems innocent enough, but it leads to territory I have been avoiding. "Yes. My parent-creators still live in the city of my emergence. Both are researchers, though in different fields. And I have a younger sibling who specializes in environmental restoration."

"What about siblings closer to your age? Anyone who would threaten to beat me up for messing with their brother?" Jake's tone is light, but I sense genuine curiosity beneath the humor.

"I have one older brother," I admit. "Kav'eth. He is... my superior in the Research Collective."

Jake's eyebrows rise. "Your brother is your boss? That sounds complicated."

"It is not uncommon in Nereidan society for family units to work within the same field. But yes, our relationship is... complex."

"Complex how?" Jake shifts to face me more directly in the water.

"We were never particularly close, even as juveniles. Kav'eth has always been exceptionally devoted to protocol and duty. He was considered exemplary by our instructors, while I was often criticized for asking too many questions."

"Shocking," Jake says with a small smile. "You, questioning things? I can't imagine."

His teasing lightens something in my chest. "My tendency to seek understanding beyond established parameters was not always appreciated."

"And now this questioning brother reports to the rule-following one. That must be fun at family gatherings."

"We rarely attend the same social functions," I admit. "Kav'eth considers it important to maintain professional boundaries."

"So he's basically the opposite of me," Jake observes. "Mr. Protocol and Proper Procedures."

The assessment is more accurate than Jake could possibly know. I recall Kav'eth's stern warnings about maintaining emotional distance, about remembering my duty to our people, about not compromising the mission for one human.

"He would find you... challenging," I say carefully.

Jake grins. "I tend to have that effect on authority figures. So what would your brother say about this?" He gestures between us. "About us?"

"He would disapprove," I say honestly. "He has already expressed concern about my... objectivity regarding this assignment."

"Wait, you've talked to him about me?" Jake looks surprised. "When?"

"Last night, after you were asleep. All field researchers are required to submit regular reports to their supervisors."

"And you told him about us?"

"No," I clarify quickly. "But Kav'eth is perceptive. He sensed my... attachment through our neural interface."

Jake processes this information, his expression thoughtful. "And he warned you to keep your distance."

"Yes."

"But you didn't."

I look at Jake, at the human who has somehow become essential to me in just over two days. "No. I did not."

"Parent-creators," Jake repeats thoughtfully, changing the subject. "Not mother and father?"

"Our reproductive biology is... different from yours. Two individuals can contribute genetic material, but the resulting offspring develops in an external environment rather than within a parent's body."

"Huh. So no pregnancy, no childbirth?"

"No. Though the bond between creators and offspring remains strong."

Jake is quiet for a moment, contemplating this. "Would they like me? Your parent-creators?"

The question catches me unprepared. The thought of Jake meeting my family, being introduced as my... what? Partner? Mate? The concept is simultaneously terrifying and appealing.

"They would find you fascinating," I say honestly. "Your adaptability, your humor, your willingness to question established frameworks, these are qualities valued in Nereidan society, though we do not always demonstrate them as readily as humans do."

"As readily as I do, you mean," Jake says with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly a typical human specimen, Zeph. Most people aren't as... mouthy as I am."

"Then most humans are less interesting than you," I reply without hesitation.

Jake lifts his head to look at me, surprise evident in his expression. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"It is merely factual."

"Still nice." He shifts in the water, moving to float on his back again, but keeps one hand connected to my arm. "So what happens now? With your recommendation, I mean. If you tell your Council that humans are compatible, what comes next?"

The question returns us to reality, to the countdown, to our imminent separation.

"If the Council accepts my recommendation, formal diplomatic contact would be established with Earth governments.

A larger delegation would be sent to begin official discussions about cultural exchange, potential migration programs, resource sharing. "

"Sounds very official," Jake says, his tone carefully neutral. "Would you be part of that delegation?"

"I do not know. It would depend on the Council's assessment of my performance in this mission."

Jake is quiet for a long moment, floating beside me, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin. "And what about us? This connection we have? Does that factor into your report at all?"

"It should not," I admit. "The assessment is meant to evaluate overall species compatibility, not individual pairings."

"But?"

"But I find it... difficult to separate the two." I reach out, drawing him back to a vertical position so I can see his face. "You have affected me, Jake Morrison. In ways I did not anticipate and cannot fully explain."

Through our empathic bond, I feel his response, a complex mixture of pleasure, sadness, and something deeper that makes my bioluminescence pulse in response.

"You've affected me too," he says quietly. "And I'm not ready for that to end."

"Nor am I," I admit, the truth slipping out before I can contain it. "But I do not see an alternative that does not involve one of us abandoning our world."

Jake looks at me for a long moment, sadness evident in his expression. "I wish there was a third option. Something that didn't mean saying goodbye forever."

"As do I." The admission costs me nothing now; we are beyond pretense. "But my duty is clear."

"And that's it? Duty wins?" Jake's voice carries a mixture of resignation and frustration. "We just... walk away from whatever this is between us?"

I have no adequate response. The conflict between what I want and what I must do has no resolution I can see. "I do not know how to reconcile my responsibility to my people with my... feelings for you."

Jake sighs, his breath warm against my skin. "So we've got fourteen hours left, and then... it's over."

The finality in his voice makes my bioluminescence dim noticeably. "Yes."

"Then let's not waste what time we have left," he says, moving closer until our bodies are pressed together in the water. "If fourteen hours is all we get, I want to remember every minute."

I should focus on my report. I should maintain professional boundaries. I should prepare for our inevitable separation.

Instead, I draw him closer, letting the water support our bodies as our lips meet. His hands slide along my back, and the empathic bond intensifies between us, amplifying every sensation until I struggle to distinguish his feelings from my own.

In this moment, with fourteen hours remaining until the transport cycle reactivates, I allow myself to hope. To imagine a future where duty does not require me to let him go. Where this unprecedented connection we've formed continues beyond our allotted time.

It contradicts my training. It defies professional protocols. It challenges everything I've been taught about my responsibilities.

But as Jake moves against me in the luminescent water, as our bond resonates with shared emotion, rationality seems far less important than what I feel for this human who was never meant to be mine.