by Neely Powell
“She said her name was Deirdre Killin, and she was a widow. She had run away from her brother-in-law, who planned to marry her after his brother’s death. She’d never liked him, but was now afraid of him because she’d learned he’d been complicit in her husband’s death. Everyone thought it was an accident, but it turned out the ogre brother-in-law had helped things along.”
Fraser paused to drink more coffee and take a breath. Hunter continued to enjoy his food, interested despite himself. His grandfather had always been a wonderful storyteller.
“Thomas gave Deirdre a job at the tavern. She could cook like an angel, and her good food brought in more guests. Eventually the two of them fell in love, and they were making plans to marry when her brother and her brother-in-law showed up. Thomas told the men that Deidre would not be going back with them, and it made them a bit angry.”
Fraser stood to pour more coffee and milk in his mug, and Hunter put his empty plate and silverware in the sink. As Hunter washed his dishes, Fraser continued his story. “Deidre had told Thomas they were a cowardly bunch and that they’d probably try to catch him unawares. That night he watched from a stool in his liquor closet while the two men sneaked into the back room where Thomas slept. When they walked to the bed to stab him, Thomas crept from his hiding place and stabbed the brother-in-law instead. He turned to stab the brother, but what he faced was not a man. It was an animal, a cat larger than anything he’d ever seen.”
“Wait a minute, Grandda,” Hunter interrupted, as he set his cup in the drain. “Are you saying—?”
“Just let me finish my story, boy,” Fraser said. “The cat growled and pounced. Responding without thinking, Thomas threw his bloody sword in front of him, hoping to deflect the cat’s body. Because the cat was almost upright before it jumped, the sword impaled it. Thomas pulled up as the cat slumped and twisted the sword with all his might. The cat fell to the floor in the throes of death.”
Fraser emptied his cup again and rose to wash it.
“What happened then, Grandda?”
Turning his cup upside down in the drainer, Fraser grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands, leaning against the edge of the sink.
“The cat fell to the floor and began changing, its body slowly turning back into the body of Deidre’s brother. As Thomas stood over it, wondering if he could believe what his eyes were seeing, Deidre came in the door. She went to her knees beside her brother and cradled his head in her lap.
“As she rocked him there, she looked up at Thomas and said, ‘I knew my brother’s greed would finally be the end of him. He was so sweet, but he was always looking to get rich without working. I’m sure he brought that odious bastard here because he was promised gold. My husband’s family had plenty of it.’”
Fraser sat back down and leaned his forearms on the table. “Thomas’ greatest fear was that his beloved Deidre could not forgive him for killing her brother. He knelt in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could say, but he said it over and over.
“Finally, she put her brother’s head on the floor and went into Thomas’ arms. ‘It doesna matter, my love,’ she told Thomas. ‘It doesna matter. He would have me live with that monster.’”
“But what about the big cat, Grandda, didn’t Thomas ask her about the big cat?”
“Of course. Her family lived in the Highlands in a remote village. They were raided one night, and most of the men were killed. The women were captured and raped repeatedly. Eventually the warriors left the town and the women and children worked hard to rebuild it without their men. The only men who were left were so badly injured it was months before they could work. The women did all the work to repair their homes.
“Soon it was discovered that many of the women were pregnant. Most of the babies were boys. Everything continued normally until two months after the boys turned sixteen. They all fell into a raging fever and writhed in pain. The local woman who provided what medical care they had was at a loss. Boys were ill throughout the village and no one could help them. Their mothers suffered unbearable agony because they couldn’t stop the sickness of their sons and feared they were all going to die.
“On the third night, the boys became restless and fought with their mothers and caregivers, finally escaping to the woods. The women followed, but were stopped when the woods came alive with growls and screeches.” Fraser spoke calmly, never taking his gaze from Hunter.
“Soon Scottish wild cats began creeping out of the forest, and the women hurried to their homes to lock themselves and their other children inside. They were terrified the big cats would find a way to get into the houses. Instead, the cats each wandered to a house and lay down on the doorstep, quietly cleaning their bodies and bothering no one.
“No one came into the streets, not being sure what the cat would do. Then one by one, the cats turned back into the young sons of the women who’d been raped. As they entered their homes, once again human, they found their families terrified of them and afraid to let them live with the women and children.
“The boys went to the church, the largest structure in the town, to decide what to do. They knew their lives were changed forever by what had happened to them, and they had to gain control or they’d be run off like wild animals. They appointed a leader and built their own residence. All the boys lived together and visited their families for meals and fellowship. They took care of the town and protected the women from attackers and marauders.”
Fraser paused, looking intently at Hunter. After a few silent moments, he spoke, “Are you with me so far, Hunter?”
Hunter couldn’t stop his grin. He sure didn’t know what the point of this story was, but his grandfather has always appreciated honesty. So he said, “Frankly, Grandda, this sounds like a fairy tale or a video game. It’s a nice story for a dark, stormy night.”
Fraser took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. “Listen to what I’m saying with an open mind. That’s all I ask.”
Though a disrespectful retort rose to his lips, Hunter took heed of the older man’s serious tone. He didn’t have any idea why he had been ripped from his life in the city to walk through the woods and sit in a cabin listening to his grandfather’s Scottish lore. But he had a feeling the man wouldn’t tolerate any further interruptions. He nodded.
“When the boys became old enough to want mates,” Fraser continued,
“they fought the urges, not wanting to inflict on anyone else what had been inflicted on them. Still, the need to mate and procreate would not be dismissed so easily.”
Hunter noticed his grandfather’s accent became more pronounced as he told the story. He wondered how his grandfather could feel so connected to such a fanciful tale.
“They eventually began to marry and start their own families. With the birth of each girl, there was much rejoicing, but the birth of boys was always shadowed with sadness.”
“Did Thomas still marry Deidre?” Hunter asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Fraser said. “They were married for more than thirty years and had six children. Two of them were boys.”
“Did they—” Hunter stopped, not sure how to go on.
“Their sons were both shapeshifters, just as their uncle had been. When they turned sixteen, Thomas and Deidre took them away and stayed with them until the change had passed. They kept the secret, never letting anyone outside the family know what happened. When the boys married, they waited to see whether they had boys or girls before telling their wives. It occasionally meant they raised a boy on their own, without benefit of a wife,” Fraser said. “The birth of a boy didn’t always mean he would be a shifter, but it was more likely.” He stood and motioned for Hunter to join him. “Let’s walk outside for a while.”
The woods around the cabin were dark. Though the rain had stopped, it was a cloudy, dismal day, the air heavy with moisture that dampened their clothes. They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Fraser turned to Hunter and place
d a hand on the teenager’s shoulder.
“Do you understand what I’ve been telling you, Hunter?”
“Our family has some real skeletons in the closet?” Hunter said with a chuckle.
When his grandfather’s face didn’t lose its serious expression, Hunter felt a nagging fear begin to grow.
“Our family was forever altered when Thomas and Deidre met,” Fraser said. “It wasn’t just her genes. It was also what happened when Thomas killed Daniel Killin, Deidre’s brother-in-law.”
“So he died from the stabbing? Thomas killed both men that night?”
“Yes, and Daniel Killin was a mutant shifter. When he changed, he remained half-human. Apparently, this afflicted many in the Killin family. For some reason, this turned them cruel and cold. Most became vicious criminals who took what they wanted, be it money, land or women. Some, like Daniel, even killed their own kind to get what they wanted. Daniel had wanted Deidre, and he killed his brother for her. “
“But how did that affect our family?” Hunter asked, caught up in the tale despite his wariness. “Thomas saved Deidre by killing Daniel and her brother.”
“The Killins swore a blood oath against our family. It continues until this day.”
“A blood oath?” Hunter repeated. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe what he was hearing. He laughed again. “It’s a great story, Grandda, but that’s all it is, right?”
Fraser looked away from Hunter, gazing through the forest as if trying to choose his words. He squeezed Hunter’s shoulder again and looked down, his face a mask of regret and sadness. Hunter was astonished to see tears in his grandfather’s eyes.
“Did you understand I was telling you a true story about our family?”
“How could it be true? It was about shapeshifters and things from fairy tales,” Hunter argued.
“The stories that survive always have a grain of truth to them,” Fraser said quietly. “A bheil thug am thuigsinn?”
Hunter froze, starring at his grandfather in horror. “Do you understand me?” the old man had asked in the ancient language.
“Are you saying—” Hunter stopped, unable to go on.
Fraser looked at him levelly and slid his arm across Hunter’s shoulders to pull him close for a brisk, tight hug. “It’s time to add your story to the tale.”
With that, Fraser walked away. He turned back and quietly said, “Tha thid.”
Hunter stood in the damp forest, trying to catch his breath, longing to be anywhere but where he was, and frightened by his grandfather’s parting words.
“It’s time.”
Remembering that night left Hunter chilled as he pulled his car to a stop in front of Zoe’s cozy house. Snow had been falling steadily for the last few miles. But he’d been lost in memories of that summer night in the mountains, the day of his first change when his grandfather introduced him to the ways of the shifter. Fraser taught him to hunt and to fight. He had encouraged him to run free, to enjoy himself and to pursue his own dreams.
Hunter wondered, however, if there wasn’t something more he now needed to know.
He sat in the silence of the car a moment longer. The back of his neck prickled. If he was being watched, would he know it? He got out of the car and sniffed the air. Yes, it was there again, the same scent that had surrounded the body in the woods. Who—or what—was there?
Hunter stood in the cold, listening and waiting, until snowfall began in earnest. Since his first change, he had never felt as human or as vulnerable as he did tonight. He went into the house and locked the doors and checked all the windows.
He didn’t like this feeling. Was it fear?
Chapter 3
I jerked awake and sat up. “Hunter?” I looked around for him. Hunter was afraid. I felt his fear. What was wrong?
It took a few seconds to remember I was sleeping on Kinley’s couch. Hunter wasn’t here. As for him being afraid, I didn’t think such a thing had happened since the summer he learned he was a shifter.
“Get hold of yourself.” I flopped over on my side but listened intently. The house was silent. Something else had awakened me. Something about Hunter.
He and I shared a deep connection from the start, but lately I had been jolted on numerous occasions by a sharp awareness of him. The time or place seemed to have no rhyme or reason. But it was damned inconvenient right now. I could call him to make sure he was all right, but he would no doubt growl and hang up on me.
I tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. Being sleepless in Jersey wasn’t nearly as romantic as being “Sleepless in Seattle.” Because of course, there’s no Tom Hanks. After I’d turned over about forty times and switched ends of the couch several times, I decided to quit trying to sleep.
I tried to focus my thoughts on the Corbin case, the rich bastard who wanted me to catch his wife cheating so he could get out of alimony even though he was cheating on her. That seemed to be a running theme in my cases these days. Searching for Lizzie Howerton’s lost sister was a nice relief from the usual nonsense I suffered.
In my head I outlined what I would need to get started—a copy of Lizzie’s birth certificate, medical records from the clinic, and maybe even records from her pediatrician. I’d call Lizzie in the morning and arrange for her help with as much as possible.
After I completed some legwork and research, I’d see if I could discover something more concrete to support her feeling of having a sibling. Of course, she could simply be crazy. She wouldn’t be the first client who wasn’t playing with a full deck. I once had a woman who paid me five thousand dollars to search for a poodle I discovered had been dead for three years. My client was ninety-three so I couldn’t really hold it against her. I returned her money, too.
But my instincts about this case, which seldom steered me wrong, said something else.
I tried to plan some more, but I’m useless without a pen and paper in my hand or a keyboard at my disposal. Too tired to get up and retrieve what I needed from my purse, I turned my thoughts to Hunter and our earlier activities with the police.
Who was the body in the woods? And why did it feel like a portent of some sort?
Portent? I almost laughed out loud. True, my gut instincts were sharp, but I was imagining things. This was just another adventure courtesy of Hunter’s shapeshifting. If he hadn’t been prowling through the woods, someone else would have found that body. And I wouldn’t have lied to the police.
That still made me uncomfortable.
I tried to empty my mind, but it wouldn’t settle down. Getting up, I checked all the windows downstairs.
If houses had personalities, this one’s was grim. I felt heaviness in the air, like the house was grieving for its family. I thought Kinley should leave here. Obviously she wasn’t thinking that way. It was the only home her girls had known and that made it important to her.
Returning to the couch, I wondered if Hunter would ever settle down with just one woman. It wasn’t likely. It’s a little easier to tell a potential mate that large noses run in the family rather than “a panther is my favorite form, but I can become any kind of cat you like.” In spite of my practicality, I had a romantic side. I was sure there was a woman somewhere who would accept Hunter as a shapeshifter. He was a good and loving man. Of course, it had taken him almost a year to tell me about it. I knew he didn’t believe he would find a woman who would accept him.
He’d once told me, “Debutantes don’t knowingly date wild animals.”
As final exams neared in our senior year of high school, Hunter and I sneaked away for a long weekend in Washington, D.C. The school thought my stepmother was having surgery and Hunter said his aunt had died. We’d both gotten adept at forging parent notes, so we weren’t worried about getting caught. His father’s administrative assistant adored Hunter and made the arrangements for us.
We went to the wonderful Hay Adams Hotel, and as we watched rain run in rivulets down the window looking over The White House, Hunter said, “Puberty ha
s hit me hard, Zo.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” I said with a grimace. “I have to shave my legs now. I’ve already got three scars on my ankles.”
He reached into the mini bar and got each of us a Coke. “Hair’s a big problem for me, too, especially when I get angry.”
“At least you have enough to shave.” I laughed. “Your buddy, Damon Morgan, still has blonde peach fuzz that nobody but him can see.”
Hunter kept looking out the window, his expression somber and sad. I realized he was very serious.
“What’s going on? Is it something with your parents?” I couldn’t keep the fear out of my voice. “Was that why they sent you away?”
Hunter was good-humored. More often than not, he was the one trying to get me out of a blue mood. He was obviously dealing with something weighing heavy on him.
“They didn’t really send me away. I was with my grandfather, learning about the dark secret in my family.”
I was frightened. He stood at the window watching the rain.
“What’s going on? What dark secret? Do you have a malevolent twin hidden in the attic?”
My attempt at humor fell flat. When he turned, the expression in his eyes chilled me. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.
“Zoe, go sit on the bed. When I come out of the bathroom, don’t move. You’ve got to promise me you won’t scream or run.”
“You’re scaring me, Hunter,” I whispered. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re my best friend, and that’s why I know I can tell you anything. Please, just sit on the bed and wait for me.”
Scared from my head to my toes, I nodded. He headed for the bathroom, and I propped a couple of pillows against the wooden headboard.
When the bathroom door made a slight squeak, I squeezed my eyes shut to delay looking at Hunter. What if he had a terrible tumor or an awful scar I couldn’t bear seeing?