by Neely Powell
“Your grandfather changed me,” she explained.
Hunter was dumbfounded.
Isobel smiled as she explained, “I became pregnant about three months after your grandfather and I married. We were so happy, so excited, and a little afraid because of his family’s genetic problem. But others in the family had gotten through it—”
“Others?” Hunter sputtered.
“There are many shifters in the MacRae family. Surely you didn’t think you were the only one.”
“But Grandda never told me. He never said—”
“The family is spread throughout the U.S. and Europe. As you know, we have enemies.”
“So we hide?”
“Of course not!” Isobel protested. “How can you say that when your grandfather became such a successful, prominent man here in the U.S?”
“But if there’s a family, isn’t there strength in numbers?”
“Our numbers are dwindling.”
“If Grandda could change you, then why not others?”
She sighed. “It’s not that simple, Hunter. What happened with Fraser and me has rarely been replicated. It happened soon after your father was born.”
She took a seat on the porch steps and gestured for him to sit beside her as she explained, “I had a wonderful pregnancy. Fraser made sure I had whatever I craved. He even sent Shamus’ father Henry into New York one night to get me a piece of the chocolate cake from Sardi’s.”
“I can’t imagine him being so indulgent,” Hunter said.
“He was a marshmallow with me, I admit it, and I shamelessly took advantage of it. When I went into labor, Dr. Connor came out to the house, of course, with his nurse, and Henry’s wife was a midwife, so I had plenty of help. My labor was long and hard, though, and when Stirling was finally born, I was torn badly, and my uterus collapsed. There was a lot of blood. I don’t remember most of it because I passed out, but I do remember the fear in the nurse’s face.
“When I woke, Fraser was connected to me, giving me a transfusion. He literally saved my life. In the next two weeks, I had to have two more transfusions and eventually a hysterectomy. It broke my heart because Fraser and I wanted lots of children. Still, I was glad to be alive.”
“I guess it helped that Dr. Connor knew our family secrets,” Hunter commented.
“Fraser brought him here because of that. And his son who is taking over the practice already knows the truth, as well.”
“Did you feel differently after the transfusions?”
“I felt stronger and much closer to Fraser, but I thought that was because we’d just had a baby and a big scare, and we were both so happy. As the months went along, however, I noticed other things. When he went out to run at night, I wanted to go with him for the first time. He laughed at me and said I was just feeling hormonal.”
“What happened?”
She laughed. “You probably aren’t going to like this, but one night a couple of months later, we were making love. It was always wonderful with your grandfather, but this night was very intense.”
Hunter gritted his teeth. “Do I have to hear this part?”
She patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the details. This time I felt…I don’t know, electric. I was terrified at first because my body felt on fire. I thought I was dying. Instead, I became a snow leopard. Your grandfather was so frightened that he changed without even realizing it. We stared at each other for a few moments, and then he changed back. He walked me through the process. Then we made love and went for a run together. It was beautiful.”
Her voice softened. “For the first time, I was a part of Fraser’s whole life. We were truly one, and you’re lucky enough to share that trait with us.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hunter said. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Can you imagine your life without the splendor and excitement of becoming a cat?”
Hunter paused, then admitted the truth. “No, no, I can’t.” He stood and leaned in to his grandmother. “You’ve got to tell me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“How do you shift without taking off your clothes?”
Smiling, Isobel put both on her hands on his face. “It’s just mind over matter, ogha.” She used the Gaelic word for grandchild. “And it’s magic, just plain magic.”
“Where does the magic come from?”
“I like to think it came from my Celtic ancestors. My great-great-great-grandmother was a white witch. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” Hunter admitted. “It seems there’s a lot about my family and my gift that I didn’t know.”
“There’s more,” Isobel said. “We have much to teach you.”
“Does that mean I’m going to meet the whole family?”
“In time.” She got to her feet. “You’ll start by listening to me and to Shamus. You’re already the MacRae clan head by birthright. Shamus will be filling in some of the gaps in your education that Fraser neglected.” She lifted a hand, and as if by magic, his grandfather’s devoted servant appeared at the edge of the woods, his rifle at the ready.
As Hunter watched, other men and women melted out of the forest. He recognized the faces. These were the people who worked on the estate and lived in the town nearby. They were old, young, and middle-aged. He had known them all of his life. Taken them for granted, really, as just part of his grandparents’ home in the mountains.
“We’re here to protect you now.” Shamus stepped forward.
Hunter looked helplessly at his grandmother and then back at the two dozen or so men and women who stood in a semi-circle. All of them were armed. Many were looking over their shoulders, obviously on alert. Surely this was a joke.
He was about to wisecrack about having his own private Secret Service. But one of the younger men caught his eye. Evan Egan was his name. He was around Hunter’s age. Hunter also recognized Evan’s older brother, Craig, who was Shamus’s second-in-command. Hunter remembered Craig and Evan from summers he had spent here when he was a child. Now, something in Evan’s gaze made Hunter bite back the witticism on his lips.
“It’s late,” Shamus said. “We need to get back to the main house.”
Hunter’s feline senses prickled to life. While he and his grandmother had talked, the afternoon’s shadows had lengthened. It wasn’t safe out here. No matter that Nana could change into a leopard capable of tearing out a man’s throat—
A cat’s scream broke into Hunter’s thoughts. It was the same horrible sound that had intruded on his family last night. He was reminded that this was no man. This was monster.
He gestured toward Evan. “Take my grandmother home. Quickly.”
But it was Craig who came forward to escort Isobel to the ATV. She murmured a word of caution to Hunter, but followed Craig without hesitation. The ATV headed off with about half of the guards as well. In moments, the engines of other vehicles came to life in the forest.
Hunter scowled at Evan. “Why didn’t you take my grandmother?”
“Evan stays by your side,” Shamus said. “As do I. You are the MacRae, and we are sworn to serve you.”
“She is part of me.”
“Part of all of us. Craig would lay down his life for her, as would the others. But for now, you want to hunt Chymera. And we’re here to help you.”
Hunter realized that the lessons his grandmother had mentioned were about to begin. He was about to take his grandfather’s place. Anticipation quickened inside him. “Let’s find the bastard. I’ll lead.”
Like lightning, the change took him. In panther form again, he led them into the forest.
Chapter 10
I’m a lapsed Catholic. I stopped regularly attending mass when my devout nanny departed my father’s employ the day after my eighteenth birthday. But just about the time I figured Hunter and his grandmother had finished spreading Fraser MacRae’s ashes, I felt a strong need for the ritual and peace I had often known in church.
I had a sense of foreboding
about Hunter. I couldn’t summon what connected me to him last night. We had talked earlier today, before brunch with his family, and he hadn’t sounded good. Worse, I was sure he was keeping things from me. My visions were freaking him out. But hell, they were freaking me out, as well. Especially since I couldn’t call up a vision at will. What good was this kind of gift if I couldn’t use when I wanted to?
I tried praying, meditating, and listening to classic tunes by Jersey’s own god, Springsteen. Nothing helped.
“So I might as well go to church,” I said to my reflection in my dresser mirror. I headed downstairs, hoping to sneak past Bernie.
Unfortunately, I had to stop in the hallway to get my coat and purse. From her perch in front of the television, Bernie looked up from a Maury Povich interview with mothers whose daughters had chosen prostitution over college. She got to her feet, arms crossing in determination. “You’re not going anywhere, Zoe.”
“I’m not driving.” I pulled my good wool coat over my clothes. “I’m walking to the church just down the street. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, Bernie, really—” I stopped and bit my lip.
She looked at me. “So you’ve had enough mothering, have you?”
Bernie had insisted I didn’t need to return to work until Thursday and she should stick close by. The result had been non-stop conversation unless I was napping in my room. I knew she loved me, and I didn’t want to hurt her. But Bernie had to go home.
Now I went to her and kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “Thanks for everything.”
She took the hint. “I’ll take myself home while you’re gone. Supper’s already waiting for you in the kitchen.”
I gave her a last hug and left.
The temperature was in the high thirties, and much of yesterday’s snow was dirty, gray sludge at the edge of the street. My steps quickened as I caught sight of the church’s slim steeple.
It wasn’t a large building, but the red brick exterior had mellowed with age. Inside the chapel, beautiful stained glass windows told the story of the Good Samaritan from the book of Luke.
The late afternoon sun illuminated those windows. I gazed at the colorful pictures of the familiar parable and thought of how I had failed Kinley. Where was her Samaritan when needed? I felt my heart breaking. Those little girls had lost their mother in a most horrible way. If I had been a few minutes earlier, I might have stopped it all. Regret consumed me.
I stopped about a third of the way to the altar. The old, wooden pew creaked as I made the sign of the cross and sat. Dry, furnace-forced air blew the scent of candle wax my way. A few others sat with bowed heads. An older couple lit a candle at the front.
I bowed my head to pray for Kinley and her little girls. Then I prayed for Hunter and his family. I felt such a responsibility to keep him safe. But how was I going to do it when he was so far away?
This new psychic awareness I had, as foggy as it was, seemed a heavy burden, and I wasn’t ready for what it required of me.
I have always believed in God and have studied the bible a great deal. I enjoy debates where beliefs are presented with religious experts discussing their tenets and perspectives. I understood so much more about what others believed now and wondered if it was difficult for God to be so many different things to so many people.
I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the pain of Kinley and Fraser’s deaths and Hunter’s absence. A long-forgotten bible verse ran through my head, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
It’s amazing what the child learns that the adult recalls. I knew it was from the book of John. That I could remember it was comforting.
Maybe the peace of the church was what did it. Because that’s when I tapped into Hunter.
I felt him moving through the forest. I saw him, his body sleek and black, golden-green eyes glowing. He wasn’t running as he had last night, but prowling through the undergrowth, twining around trees, huddling at the base of rocks. Often, he stopped to sniff the air. A low growl rumbled in his throat. The forest was deeply shadowed and growing darker by the moment.
Was this happening now or was it a future event? I had no idea. My mind was spinning, hundreds of miles from the quiet church. But my spirit was with Hunter, and he was stalking something.
Chymera.
I concentrated on the scene in my head. I heard voices in the distance. I saw Shamus. Fraser’s loyal bodyguard with other men, close on Hunter’s trail. I saw the high-powered rifles they carried. At least Hunter wasn’t alone and unprotected. But what was he thinking? He was an alley cat who used his shifting abilities for fun. Did he really think he could battle the monster that killed Fraser?
At the same time, I realized it had been too much to think he would hold off going after his grandfather’s murderer as soon as possible.
It gave me a jolt to realize Hunter was going to kill someone. But maybe Chymera was just some thing, and maybe it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t sure I liked thinking that way about a life, any life.
But Hunter’s life mattered at this moment. My heart pounded as he picked up speed. The men were shouting at him. As if I were inside him, I felt his anger, his animal instinct to hunt, to pounce, to kill.
While I couldn’t see exactly what Hunter was trailing, I felt the same dark presence that had been in the forest last night. There were shouts from the men. An inhuman howl tore through my brain, quickly answered by Hunter’s roar and an explosion.
“Oh God, no.” I covered my ears and rocked forward. I knew what I heard was a gunshot. I felt Hunter’s fear.
“Are you all right?” A concerned voice cut through my connection to Hunter, snapping it off as quickly as it had begun.
With a sharply indrawn breath, I looked up to find a priest standing beside me.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” The ingrained instincts of a Catholic schoolgirl die hard. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of a man of the cloth.
“You called out. Several times.”
“I was thinking about a friend,” I replied, fumbling for an explanation. If I told the priest I was having a vision, he might call for help, maybe recommend an exorcism—or a straitjacket.
He frowned. “A friend? Is the friend in trouble? You’ve been here a long time.” He assumed I was talking about myself.
“What?” I got to my feet, noting that sunlight no longer came through the windows. How long had I watched Hunter in the woods?
“You were sitting here when I came in about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Oh my God, I mean oh my…goodness.”
“Do you need to talk?” he asked, his expression kind.
“No.” I grabbed my purse. “I have to go.”
“Please.”
But I hurried down the aisle, not looking back. I dug through my purse for my cell. Hunter didn’t answer. I left him a frantic message as I rushed down the front steps into the early winter evening.
Frantic, I scrolled through my contacts until I found the phone number for the MacRae estate. The phone rang several times before a deep, cultured voice answered. It was Hunter’s father.
“Mr. MacRae.” I felt awkward and inadequate when I spoke with him. I smoothed my hair, as if he could see me. “It’s me. Zoe.”
“Yes?” He sounded irritated.
“I’m trying to reach Hunter.” My voice shook. “Is he there?”
The man drew in a deep breath, and my heart fluttered.
“Is Hunter okay?”
“He’s not here,” Stirling replied, speaking as he might have to a child. “He hasn’t returned from the cabin.”
“Is he all right?”
Stirling cleared his throat. “I certainly hope so. He had someone escort his grandmother back to the estate. He’s apparently on some sort of expedition.”
/> “So it’s true,” I murmured. “He’s out in the woods. That idiot.”
“My feelings exactly,” Hunter’s father retorted. “Is there a message, Zoe?”
“Tell him…” I paused. What could I do? Tell Stirling MacRae about my vision? I couldn’t imagine it. “Just tell him I called.”
“Of course.”
I stood on the sidewalk, shivering. It wasn’t that cold. But I was chilled to my core. Was Hunter dead? Was that why my link to him had shattered so completely?
I rushed home, my plan to book a flight and a rental car as soon as possible and go to Hunter. But what good would that do? It would take hours to get to the estate. What if I was on a plane when Hunter needed me? With my cell phone at my side, I willed Hunter to call.
Somehow, some way, I needed to link with him again. I went to my laptop to look up precognition on the Internet. I immersed myself in trying to learn more about this strange ability.
There’s a lot of weird stuff out there when you start looking for things of a psychic nature. I concentrated mostly on information from universities and studies.
I was astonished to learn scientific study of precognition began in 1927. A British Premonitions Bureau was established in the 60s to attempt to use precognitive data to avert disasters.
That was my mission now, should I choose to accept it. Did I have a choice?
Fraser had been adamant that I was the first line of defense for protecting Hunter. I’d have to be with him all the time. Was that even possible? With his late-night antics?
My head was aching when I gave up a bit after nine. Since my bump on the head, that had been happening often.
I made myself warm some of the beef and cabbage casserole Bernie made earlier in the day. I was putting the leftovers away when my cell phone rang. It was Hunter.
“Thank God you called,” I said by way of greeting. “What’s happened?”
“Shamus is dead.”
I dropped into a kitchen chair, stunned. “What? How?”
“The same creature that took Grandda.” Hunter’s voice broke. “It was horrible.”
