by Zoe Chant
“I can do this to your human form, too,” she told him in amusement. “If you let me.”
Wrench shifted, head still in her lap.
“Right now I’d let you do anything to me,” he confessed, feeling languid and relaxed.
Lydia bent over to kiss his forehead. “Anything…?” she said suggestively.
Wrench grinned back. They had some time before Ally would be back.
Chapter 36
“Here’s the list of people that have arrived since Wrench started working here, that are still here at the resort. Unless our attempted assassin arrived here off the books, this is who we have to start from.”
Scarlet adjusted the projector, bringing her tidy handwriting into focus on the screen. The projector must have been a product of the time the resort was first built in the 80s. Lydia was sitting next to Wrench in the darkened room. Only the most trusted of the staff was there—and their mates. As she’d assured Wrench, Scarlet was not taking the attempt on Wrench’s life lightly.
The list was frustratingly long; it was the busiest time of the vacation season and people had been steadily moving in and out. Some of the staff had turned over as well, as the isolation of Shifting Sands proved too much for some people to handle long term.
“I do not have record of any snake shifters at all, but people have lied on their applications before. We can eliminate anyone we’ve witnessed shifting into other forms.” She crossed out several of the names herself.
Bastian volunteered, “Dana? That’s the one with glasses who hasn’t put down a book for more than five minutes in a row? I saw her shift into a cat of some sort on the beach.”
Scarlet put a line through her name.
“Those two guys were in the bar when the attack happened,” Tex said helpfully. “Couldn’t have been them.”
Other names were eliminated, but the list was still painfully long.
Graham frowned at the list. “Lars? That the Swedish hockey player?” he asked gruffly.
“Expert!” several of the staff chorused mockingly.
“He’s not a bear like he says.”
“Oh?” Wrench was all attention. “He could be the type. How do you know that?”
“Ate half the shrubbery around his cottage two nights ago,” Graham growled.
“Oh, snap,” Breck said. “He’s lucky he’s still alive.”
“We do try to avoid sending our visitors home in boxes,” Scarlet reminded them firmly.
“No one wants that review on Yelp,” Bastian joked.
“‘Excellent food. Great view. Insane landscaper attacked guests with machete,’” Travis mimicked.
Graham looked more amused than offended.
Scarlet cleared her throat. “At any rate, snakes don’t eat shrubbery, so we can also eliminate him.” She put a neat line through his name.
From the remaining names, they discussed the most likely candidates—the humorless cigarette-smoking man from Lydia’s flight, a bruiser with a Russian accent who professed to be a saber-toothed cat, and a black-haired woman who was built slightly but had a quick slyness that everyone agreed was a little suspicious and snake-like.
“A mink would be,” Scarlet said, consulting her notes, but she left the star by the woman’s name.
“Keep your eyes on these characters in particular,” Scarlet told them as the meeting broke up. “Stay in touch with each other, and be smart. Let’s go get some work done.”
As Wrench went to leave with Lydia beside him, Scarlet paused with them for a moment.
“I will understand if you don’t wish to leave your mate’s side until this is resolved,” she said in a tone that could have been tolerant or just disgusted. “But I do have a request for Lydia alone. Gizelle has been in her gazelle form since the earthquake, and I was hoping that I could have your help trying to get through to her. Jenny’s had no luck.”
“Of course,” Lydia said immediately.
Gizelle had always been shy and skittish. When the Shifting Sands staff had rescued her from a madman’s shifter collection, she had refused to shift to human form for months. She still tended to revert to her gazelle shape whenever she was startled or frightened, which was often. With no memories of anyone or anywhere before her captivity, no one was sure how old she was, or where she’d come from before her imprisonment. She was innocent and childlike at times, but her seriousness and the white that streaked her hair sometimes made her seem ancient.
“I’ll move the meditation class to the lawn outside the event hall,” Lydia suggested. “Gizelle would sometimes join us, and I can stay after class and see if she’ll approach me.”
Scarlet nodded briskly and left them.
“You know I’m comin’ with you,” Wrench growled from her side.
“If you do, I expect you to meditate quietly with the rest of us,” Lydia teased.
Wrench looked stoic. “Fine.”
Lydia almost took his hand, then reconsidered, walking beside him as they went back up to her room to check on Ally. She was startled and delighted when Wrench took her hand of his own volition.
She twined her fingers into his and felt a moment of deep contentment and peace.
Chapter 37
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.
Chapter 38
“You did great,” Lydia promised, laughing. “My toes are all still attached.”
Wrench managed to look some strange mix of pleased and offended behind his gruff facade, and Lydia loved the feeling of his hand at her waist. It was strong and sexy, and she wanted to drag him straight back out on the dance floor, even if he didn’t once use anything except the very basic forward and back. He had a sure sense of rhythm, and if he wasn’t creative on the dance floor, he was at least steady. Lydia had danced with far worse partners.
“Look out,” she teased him. “Scarlet’s watching. If you do too well, next time she’ll badger you to go dance with all the shy ladies sighing in the wings. These dances always draw more women than men.”
Adding weight to her threat, Travis and Tex were trotting dutifully around the room with eager partners while Jenny and Laura laughed together behind the bar. Breck was dancing seductively with a blushing middle-aged woman and Bastian was doing something elegant with the mink shifter while Saina seethed from the side of the room. Even Chef had been dragged from the kitchen and was dressed up and dancing elegantly with Dot, the old woman with short white hair. Magnolia blew him a kiss from the chairs at the edge of the room.
Scarlet was acting as DJ; the loss of their boat gave them no way to get the usual band from the mainland for the event. Lydia felt like it wasn’t quite the same as live instruments, but having Wrench at her side more than made up for it.
As Lydia glanced over at her, Scarlet raised her eyebrow and tilted her head towards the few single men standing awkwardly to the side of the dancefloor.
“Ah,” Lydia said. “I’m not going to be so lucky. But this is a lovely opportunity to get some more information.”
Wrench’s hand at her waist tightened possessively and Lydia let him draw her in closer. With heels, she didn’t have to stand up far to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He growled so quietly that she could only feel it through their body contact, not hear it.
“You could go dance with Ms. Mink,” she suggested playfully. “Dancing is a great chance to ask questions.”
“I ain’t the guy to ask
questions,” Wrench suggested dryly. “I’m the guy breaking fingers while the other guy asks questions.”
Lydia squinted up at him. There was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Was that supposed to be a joke?” she realized in astonishment.
“Supposed to be, yeah.”
Lydia giggled helplessly and squeezed him.
Then he let her go, and Lydia had to fight back her instinct to throw herself back into his arms.
Duty called.
As she clicked across the dance floor in her shoes, she looked critically at her choices. The Swedish hockey player, Lars, looked like he might be lighter on his feet, but he was also gazing across the dance floor longingly at the bookish woman in glasses who was dancing with Tex. He didn’t even glance at Lydia as she sashayed towards them.
The Russian bruiser had an unexpectedly innocent look as Lydia drew closer, gazing wistfully out at the dancers and tapping his fingers against his sleeve. At any other time, this would have made Lydia choose him, but she wasn’t here just for dancing. She made the third figure of the group her target, extending an imperious hand to the grim-faced smoker from her flight. She thought his name from Scarlet’s list had been Tim.
He looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment before reluctantly accepting it.
Lydia didn’t care for the smell of cigarette smoke, and was relieved to find that he was more soap-and-sandalwood scented. He stepped out after her onto the floor with more grace than Lydia had braced for and his hand at her waist—while not Wrench’s—was neither desperate nor tentative.
“How do you like Shifting Sands?” Lydia asked, after they had negotiated the lead and settled into a comfortable pattern.
“It’s… a nice place,” the young man said uncomfortably.
“Enjoying the food?” Lydia pried. Normally, she wouldn’t push a conversation if someone preferred only to dance quietly, as this one certainly did. But she was on a mission, and grimly determined to find out who had bitten her mate and might be a threat to his niece.
“Er… it’s good,” maybe-Tim agreed plaintively.