Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
If I could get away with strangling Annemarie, I would.
She’d come bounding into the apartment — without knocking — like some sugar-charged sprite, announcing “We’re doing yoga for stress relief and shit! You two are tense!”
Casie had snorted into her mug of coffee. “Flint doesn’t do yoga. He does punching bags and lofty expectations.”
And — alright. Fair.
But I see the shadows under Ash’s eyes, the way her shoulders have been creeping higher and higher with every passing day.
I can feel the strain wearing on her. She looks like she’s bracing for an impact that no one else can see.
If she needs yoga, I can probably survive it.
It would do her some good. She’s been working so hard at figuring out her powers and magick. If it’s good for her…
How bad could stretching be?
Very fucking bad, it turns out.
The moment I step into Annemarie’s makeshift studio in the attic of Wanderlust, the heat punches me in the face. And the gut. It’s like walking into Calida’s mouth — hot and humid. Better smelling, which is a blessing from the Gods. It’s hot and humid, and… gross. Suffocating, almost.
The air clings to me instantly, sweat prickling along my spine before we’ve even unrolled our mats.
Ash gives me a look over her shoulder, smirking as she secures pins in that rainbow waterfall of hair. “Still confident, tough guy?”
I stretch my shoulders, pretending I don’t already want to bolt. “I’ve faced battlefields, storms, curses… I think I can handle a little stretching, witchling.”
Annemarie grins as she hands me some sort of mat.”Sure, warrior boy. Let’s see if your battlefield training helps you survive my Downward Dog Inferno.”
As an instructor, Annemarie is soft-spoken, voice full of both honey and command. “Find your center. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Easy. Except the air apparently has the consistency of soup and my lungs are already rebelling.
“Now, flow into Warrior Two.”
Alright. Com’on. Warrior, I can do.
Except she means some twisted stance where my legs are burning and my arms are shaking whilst sweat pours down my temples and into my already stinging eyes.
Just when I think my knee is going to give out, she instructs us to do some nonsense “cat and cow” thing that involves wiggling my ass as I stretch my shoulders and back.
I have to admit that I feel ridiculous, but can’t deny that the stretch in my upper back feels nice.
Annemarie orders us into a side plant with a tree pose. What the fuck is a tree pose?
Thankfully, from this angle, I’m facing Ash’s rather spectacular ass.
She’s graceful, focused. Glowing. My balance wobbles as I watch her brace her weight effortlessly on one hand and foot, keeping her body lifted from the floor, opposite arm and leg held aloft.
She moves like she’s always belonged to the rhythm of the world. She’s amazing.
Annemarie meets my eyes, eyebrows raised. Then she laughs silently as she folds her body in half, like she’s made of rubber.
My thighs are on fire. My mat is slick with the sweat that’s pouring off my body. I’m fairly certain I might be dying.
“Lift your heart to the sky.” Much easier when your heart isn’t trying to escape through your ribcage.
Ash catches my eye, biting her lip. I know she’s trying desperately not to laugh. There’s a dangerous sparkle in her gaze telling me “You look ridiculous”.
‘You do look ridiculous,’ Calida chimes in and I swear I hear Ash snort.
I bite back a grin of my own. Even half melted, she’s beautiful. Ash, not Calida. Calida is a brat.
“Don’t you dare laugh, witchling,” I whisper. “You’ll fracture a chakra or some such nonsense.”
She snorts again, losing her balance and collapsing into a heap of giggles. Annemarie arches a brow, but continues leading the class.
At the half way point, I hear “fold deeply into your hips” and “release the tension.” I’m not sure what tension I have left — I think I’ve already sweat all of it out — but it feels like my soul is leaving my body through my knees.
Ash keeps sneaking glances at me like she’s cataloguing every muscle twitch for future mockery.
I’m pretending there isn’t a lake of my own body fluids steadily growing on the mat beneath me and that I don’t have actual concerns about drowning if I happen to lose what’s left of my balance.
I shoot a sharp look at Annemarie, who appears to glisten and glow, face serene. I could make it look like an accident, I think. She knew this was going to be torture. She knew.
As though she can hear the dark thoughts I’m thinking directly at her, she again finds my eye. This time she gives me a saucy wink.
I can’t throttle my girl’s best friend.
I can’t.
As I chant that like an incantation in my mind, I almost miss the next step in this torture.
I can do this.
Just as I’m beginning to contemplate what sort of spell I could use to at least save some of my pride, Ash interrupts my internal debate. “You doing alright, big guy?”
I grunt, trying to make what I’m seeing make sense. At the front of the small space, Annemarie announces “sirsasana” before doing some sort of flowy movement in which her legs are straight in the air, her entire body braced on her forearms. What the fuck? Is she made of fluid?
“Perfect,” I grunt.
Okay. I can do this. I have decent arm strength. I can sword fight, for gods sake. I can do this.
“Just… finding enlightenment. Slowly. Painfully.”
I try three times, my lower body unable to escape gravity each time. Does the humidity increase gravity or something? What the hell.
On the fourth attempt, my arms shaking, I manage to get my legs into the air. Before I can get too excited, my arms say “fuck you” to my dignity and give out. As my face meets the entirely sodden mat with what I swear is a splash, I hear Ash gasp.
Ash’s eyes are dancing with glee. “You’re clearly a natural.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, cheek pressed against the moist surface. “That’s the look I was going for.”
At the end, Annemarie dims the lights and tells us to “surrender to the stillness”.
I collapse flat on my back, limbs spread wide. Chest heaving.
Ash lies quietly beside me, her fingers brushing mine in the quiet. The laughter fades, replaced by slow breaths and the rhythmic hum of the fans. The heat feels less like a punishment now and more like a release. My muscles hum, loose and relaxed.
Ash lies next to me, chest heaving. I was so distracted by the heat and discomfort of not being made of rubber that I had somehow missed that under the sweats and a sleeveless shirt she stole from me, she’s wearing a pair of very tiny shorts and a top that hugs her breasts, crisscrossing straps across her back.
Her arms are bare, leaving her pale, smooth skin and tattoos on display.
Her face glows with health, a thin sheen of sweat covering all of it.
Why is that so attractive?
Entirely too aware that we have an audience and this is not the time or the place to roll over and sink my teeth into her neck, I try to focus on her face.
Her hair is damp, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. There’s peace in her expression. Rare, fragile peace. For that alone, I’d suffer through another hour of hot-stretchy-torture.
“Worth it.”
She blinks, studying my face. “What?”
I smile. “You look relaxed.” I pause. “Is this like the flowers?”
Her brow furrows then clears. “Kind of.” Her lips curve, slowly. “You look relaxed too.”
Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just delirious. But for once, the tension that has been coiled under my skin like a live wire seems less present.
After class, Annemarie hands me a towel, giggling at my soaked shirt. “So, Mr. Warrior, what did you think?”
I have to say, the fact that her riot of curls is wet with exertion does a lot to mollify my dented dignity. Yes, I may have face planted, but clearly, this is quite the workout for even those who are advanced and know what they’re doing.
I’m still not convinced she’s not some trickster God sent here to test me.
“You’re evil.” I cut a glance at Ash. “Both of you.”
She tosses her towel in the hamper. “I distinctly saw you flexing in the mirror.”
I’m appalled.
“I absolutely was not! I was trying to survive.”
Ash bumps my shoulder as we walk out into the evening air, cool and sweet after the heat. “Next time, we can try meditation.”
“Next time,” I say, with feeling, “I’m faking an injury.”
But I’m smiling as I say it — and the sound of their laugher lights our way home.