Wrench tried to decide if meditation class was better or worse than salsa dancing.

One the one hand, he didn’t have to watch his feet for fear of crushing one Lydia’s unfortunate toes.

On the other, it was every bit as boring and infuriating as he’d feared.

He opened an eye a crack, surveying the others in the group.

“A deep breath in, all the way to the bottom of your lungs. Feel your ribcage stretch. Let your shoulders relax as you breath out again.”

The old woman with the unfortunate luggage had her legs twisted into a remarkably flexible pose, back ramrod straight as she followed along with the guided breathing that Lydia was calling out in her calmest voice. She’d been the most surprised of the group to see Wrench join the meditation, and Wrench couldn’t decide if she was most put off by the scars and tattoos, the fact that a lowly member of the staff was joining the class, or that he was a man. Whatever the reason, his presence was obviously highly displeasing to her behind a mask of false friendliness.

“Focus on filling your lungs, breathe in.”

Beyond the old woman was the cold blonde, looking colder than ever. Her heels and expensive purse were beside her on the grass.

“Breathe all the way out and empty your mind.”

The dark-haired supposedly-mink shifter was next in the circle, her long hair pulled back in a sinuous ponytail. Wrench was glad he had joined the class; it would have been laughably easy for one of them to catch Lydia off guard as she sat with her eyes closed.

“As thoughts intrude, let them pass without challenge.”

The small group was completed by the bookworm in glasses. It was odd to see her without a book, her eyes closed behind her thick glasses.

“Concentrate on your breathing, evenly out, evenly in.”

Beyond them, at the far edge of the lawn, a dainty gazelle was grazing studiously, her big ears flicking back and forth.

“Feel your chest and stomach rise gently as you breathe.”

Wrench realized that one of the old woman’s eyes was cracked open and she was surreptitiously watching him. He was glad that he’d chosen to wear his mirrored sunglasses, masking his own covert observations. Old habits were sometimes the best. There was danger everywhere.

“Inhale, exhale.” Lydia’s voice was slow and hypnotic. “You are in a safe, restful place.”

Just as Wrench was wondering if she didn’t sound just the tiniest bit pointed, he heard her in his head, I always know where you are.

Wrench bit back a disruptive cough and murmured a gruff, unintelligible apology as he cleared his throat.

One of the girls giggled slightly and the old woman gave a slight disapproving noise.

“Inhale, exhale,” Lydia continued serenely. “Thoughts come and pass through and we return to our breathing.”

After a few more moments of slow, rhythmic words, Lydia said, “Now let’s enjoy ten minutes of silent meditation. Continue to concentrate on your breathing, inhale and count one, exhale and count, one.”

Wrench watched her press a button on her phone through one cracked eyelid and then she was quiet.

He was more distracted by the sound of everyone else’s breath than his own. The blonde breathed like a metronome. The maybe-mink shifter had a distinct hiss to her breath that made Wrench’s shoulder blades tighten. The book-reader almost hummed.

The drone of insects and the distant surf rose up over those close noises, and Wrench could hear the erratic munching of the gazelle across the lawn.

Ten minutes was an eternity, an endless chasm of space and not-quite-silence that Wrench wasn’t sure he was going to make it through without fidgeting, and then abruptly Lydia’s phone was giving a low chime to end the session. He wasn’t even sure what he’d been thinking about, at the end of it.

“Let your body come awake again slowly, and continue to inhale and exhale rhythmically.” Lydia’s voice was gentle and quiet. “Wiggle your fingers and toes, then your arms and legs. Inhale, exhale. Roll your shoulders back, think about your posture and let your head fall forward and then roll up slowly as you inhale, and exhale.”

Wrench followed along, feeling foolish and awkward as blood returned to starved places.

“Take this peace with you on your day,” Lydia said in ending. “Namaste.”

“Namaste,” the others chorused back.

Not expecting the reply, Wrench mumbled his own echo too late, as quietly as possible, but it was masked in the chatter and noise of the women rising to their feet and gathering their things.

Wrench remained seated with Lydia as the others left.

“You did well,” Lydia said with a smile.

“Easier than dancing,” Wrench said gruffly. The session had not dulled his senses, and he was keenly aware that the gazelle was grazing in their direction, though she was pointedly not quite facing them.

“You’re picking that up fine, too,” Lydia assured him. “You won’t embarrass yourself at the dance tomorrow.”

Wrench groaned. “Can’t you say I’m still a danger to bystanders and tell Scarlet I shouldn’t be allowed to come? I’m still… ah, weak? Ow, my snakebite.”

Lydia’s laughter was soft and gentle. “Be grateful she won’t make you trot once around with all the female guests without partners.”

“Doesn’t someone else need to stay behind with Ally?” Wrench said desperately.

“Graham is going to stay with her; he’s never at the dances and even Scarlet believes he could protect her. She is immune, besides.”

Wrench shrugged, sensing the trap closing.

He was saved having to answer by the cautious approach of Gizelle, who, to the astonishment of both of them, went straight up to Wrench and pressed a velvety nose against his shoulder.

“Won’t you join us?” Lydia asked softly.

The gazelle flicked expressive ears at her, then sighed, stepped back, and shifted into a skinny, wild-haired girl. She raised dark eyes, not to Lydia, but to Wrench, and he realized that she was not a girl at all, despite her slight form. “You brought a child here,” she said achingly.

Wrench exchanged a look with Lydia.

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly when Lydia nodded. “My niece. Thought she’d be safer here.”

“You were wrong!” Gizelle said sharply, drawing away. Wrench balled helpless fists at his side. Any calm he was supposed to have gotten from his meditation was long gone.

Lydia held a sarong out to her and Gizelle stared at it a moment before accepting it and folding it around her naked form. “Honey, do you know who the cobra is?”

Gizelle looked at her blankly.

“The danger,” Lydia pressed gently.

“The danger is waking,” Gizelle said softly. “It shouldn’t wake. It should sleep, and it wakes and it tickles and whispers and the island will break and fall into the ocean and the world will burn.” Her voice rose as she continued, until she was crying hysterically and falling into Wrench’s arms.

He patted her awkwardly, meeting Lydia’s eyes over the crown of Gizelle’s white-streaked head.

Lydia was swift to reassure her. “You mean the earthquake? Oh, it’s okay, Gizelle. It just happens sometimes. It’s over now, it can’t hurt you. It’s just the ground shaking a little.”

Gizelle cried harder, clinging to Wrench.

“I been through lots of them,” Wrench added in a manner he hoped was comforting. “They’ll wake you up, but mostly they just get your blood going and nothing’s hurt.”

Gizelle sobbed on him for an awful moment that seemed longer than the endless ten minutes of silent meditation, then abruptly relaxed in Wrench’s arms. Then she was pushing back onto her heels. “I smell chocolate,” she said eagerly.

“I think Chef is making cake,” Lydia said coaxingly.

Gizelle seemed completely unaware of the tears that were still on her cheeks as she bounced to her feet. “Maybe he’ll let me lick the batter,” she said enthusiastically, then she was scampering off, bare feet silent over the grass.  

“That girl ain’t right in the head,” Wrench said, baffled.

Lydia laughed weakly. “No, not entirely.”

Wrench brushed himself off and stood. “Can’t figure why she had to weep all over me,” he said, frowning down at the tears on his shirt.

Lydia smiled. “I figure you must remind her of Neal. He bonded with her a bit before leaving with his mate a few months back. You have sort of the same look to you.”

“Must be,” Wrench said briefly.

He hoped he wasn’t going soft.

Then he wondered how bad that would actually be.