True Nature (14 page)

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.”

“You were in the woods, and Shamus had a rifle. There was a shot.”

“And it was too late. Shamus moved away from the group, trying to keep up with me. Chymera doubled back and took him. By the time we got to him Shamus was dead.” Hunter drew another shaky breath. “His throat was ripped out.”

I didn’t know what to say. Sorry was inadequate. “When did this happen?”

He explained how Chymera had surprised them at the cabin. “It was about six-thirty when he was attacked.”

I was in the church, watching it all unfold just before Shamus was shot. Maybe if I’d shared my vision with Stirling, I could have prevented the tragedy. I wasn’t sure I could tell Hunter that, however, over the phone. I settled on, “I’m coming up there.”

“No, you’re not! Right now, I’m working on getting Nana out of here and in to the city. It isn’t safe.”

“Not for you, either,” I protested. “He’s killed two people now.”

“He won’t kill another.”

“Hunter, please get out of there.”

“Grandda didn’t raise me to walk away from a fight.”

“But you need to think, to plan.”

“Oh, I am,” Hunter said. “I’m planning how he will die.”

He was dead serious. But death was what I feared most for him.

There were voices in the background. “The men are here with a report. I have to go.”

“But what—”

The phone clicked off. I started to call Isobel. She must believe he was being foolish too.

Or maybe she had lived long enough with Fraser MacRae to know what Hunter had to do. I sat holding the phone against my chest as if that would keep the connection alive between us.

I was still sitting there when it rang again. Sure it was Hunter calling back to beg me to come rescue him, I grabbed it but was surprised to hear another male voice on the line. “Hi, Zoe, it’s Mike Scala. How are you?”

“Fine, Detective. Is something wrong?” I was wary. Did he have more information about the man found dead behind the office? The news of Fraser’s death had hit the media, although a hunting accident had been listed as the official cause. Were the police wondering, like I was, why everyone was dying around me and Hunter? Or worse, had they discovered our lie?

“Are Kinley’s girls all right?” I asked.

“As fine as they can be, considering what has happened. Although the oldest one hasn’t said a word since they told her Kinley was dead.” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

“That’s terrible. Kelly’s such a little sweetheart. Maybe I should go see them.”

“That might be a good idea.”

What a nice guy. I could use a man like that in my life. But was this the time to be dating a cop, just when my partner and best friend was planning to kill someone? I needed to end this. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Mike cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you might want to grab a bite to eat tomorrow evening.”

I started to say no, but I couldn’t get the word out. I mean, here I sat alone. My best friend needed me, sure, but he was pushing me away. And did I really blame him?

Hell, I didn’t know anything about hunting half-man, half-beast creatures, and my psychic hotline to Hunter wasn’t ringing in time for me to protect him. For about the hundredth time, I wished for an instruction manual on how to be a shifter’s first line of defense.

But on the other hand, what did any of that have to do with my romantic life? A hot man was on the phone asking me for a date. That was as rare as a good hair day.

“Zoe?” Mike prompted in the silence, sounding nervous. “You still there?”

If nothing else, getting to know Mike would keep me in touch with Kinley’s murder investigation. And be a contact for future cases. “Dinner sounds nice.” We made plans for him to pick me up at seven.