True Nature (4 page)

Almost thirty minutes after leaving the office, he reached Mandy’s exclusive neighborhood. His car was in the parking lot of the strip mall where her husband had the first of his chain of dry cleaners.

Keeping an eye out for traffic, he shifted into human form again, removed his small backpack, pulling out the jeans and T-shirt. Near the building and well out of sight of any passing car lights, he dressed quickly, then headed back to the car, shivering. He’d definitely remember to put another jacket in the car.

On the way to Zoe’s, he turned up the radio as Neon Trees sang “Animal.” He stopped long enough to grab a gallon of milk and three sub sandwiches at a grocery store. Changing twice in one night left him hungry. As he drove, he ate the first sandwich and remembered the day he’d learned his family’s genetic secret.

He was sixteen at the time. Summoned to the Manhattan office of his father, Stirling MacRae, he was surprised to find Fraser, his grandfather, there too. The two men had looked very tall and stern, standing together in front of the windows. Though over eighty, Fraser was still fit of form, his hair only sprinkled with silver, his intense green eyes alive with the vitality of a man many years younger. Stirling was striking, as well, but later, when he knew the truth, Hunter had realized that the father and son gave off two very different vibes.

On that day nearly thirteen years ago, the two men looked so grim that Hunter was sure his grandmother was dead. He reacted accordingly.

“Is something wrong with Nana Isobel?” Hunter rushed to his grandfather’s side. “Is she sick?”

With uncharacteristic gentleness, the older man placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed. “No, lad,” he said, his Scottish accent as strong as ever. “Your grandmother is well and happy. I’ve come to take to you to our home for a while. There are things you need to learn about your family.”

Hunter turned to his father for the first time. “What’s this all about?”

“Your grandfather will give you all the information you need,” Stirling MacRae said. “I’ve had your things packed so you can leave with him now. You’ll take the company helicopter back to the estate.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“That doesna matter, boy, you have to go with me,” Fraser said. “Now, come on, I want to get back to the estate before it gets dark.”

The “estate” was a house as big as a small town in the Adirondack Mountains. The family owned another estate in Scotland, a ski lodge in Canada, a beach house in Hawaii, and a villa in France. But the Adirondack estate was Fraser’s pride and joy. He had it built once he established himself in New York City. As soon as Stirling started taking over the law firm, Fraser and Hunter’s grandmother spent as much time there as possible. Hunter had visited for at least a month every summer until he’d become a teenager and found life in the city more interesting. Since then his visits had been brief, usually with the rest of his family for holidays and his grandfather’s huge birthday celebrations.

Birthdays were big events in the MacRae family—often with several celebrations. While Fraser and Isobel brought family and close friends to the mountains for birthdays, Stirling took advantage of the occasions to host tax-write-off galas filled with clients and business associates. These were must-have invitations for a certain group in the city. You weren’t officially a part of New York society unless your name was on a guest list for a MacRae-hosted event.

Hunter’s sixteenth birthday party had been held at the Marriott in Times Square with Cold Play and the Beastie Boys providing entertainment. Even though his father had filled the club with lots of people Hunter didn’t know, he and Zoe and their friends had enjoyed an evening of unlimited food, music, and games. Hunter smiled, remembering he’d gotten to third base with Lindsey, his new girlfriend. The brand new Porsche his father gave him certainly aided that conquest. Now he was supposed to leave Lindsey and his great car behind to visit grandparents?

“No way,” he muttered angrily. He wasn’t leaving the city right now.

“You have no choice.” Stirling’s face was set in the uncompromising lines that Hunter recognized well.

“It’s time for you to learn about your heritage,” Fraser added, “and for that, you’ll need to be with me.”

“But for how long?” Hunter protested. What was this, anyway? An abduction?

Not answering, Stirling moved around his desk and gestured toward the door. “Go on, the pilot is waiting.”

It was late evening by the time they arrived at the estate. Isobel was at the door and enveloped Hunter in a breath-stopping hug as soon as he stepped inside. He felt comforted by the scent of fresh roses that surrounded his grandmother. She was the only person in his family who seemed at ease in expressing her affection. His father and mother, even his grandfather, had always felt distant to Hunter.

“
Ciamar a tha thu?
” Isobel placed her hand on his cheek, as she asked him how he was in Gaelic.

“I’m fine, Nana,” Hunter muttered.

Isobel Ferguson MacRae always spoke to her grandchildren in Gaelic, hoping to keep the language alive with the younger generation. Hunter had learned it to please her.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Isobel gave him a firm kiss on the cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

Fraser conferred quietly at the door with Shamus, the aide who was never far from his side. Isobel took Hunter’s hand and led him through the vast foyer to the living room. The glass front of the mansion made it feel like the forest that surrounded the estate was indoors. The landscaping had been carefully designed to present an array of plants and bushes with intricate paths throughout so guests could enjoy walking among the blooms and greenery.

“I need to call Zoe.” Hunter disengaged himself from his grandmother’s grip. “I need to tell her I’m going to be away for the rest of the summer.”

Fraser walked in, for once without Shamus, and said quietly, “Tell her you’ll be here about six months.”

“What the hell will I do for six months?” Hunter shouted. “What about school?”

Fraser grabbed his grandson’s shoulders and gave them a strong shake. “You watch your language in my home. You tell your friend you’ll be here six months, and you’ll write to her. Your schooling will be taken here. That’s all she needs to know.”

“Write her? You mean, like a letter?”

“Of course,” Fraser said.

“What about email?”

“There are no computers available,” Fraser said. “You’ll have plenty of paper and postage.” He placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Go ahead, call. Tell her you’ll see her in six months.”

Realizing that arguments were fruitless at this point, Hunter snatched up the phone and turned his back on his grandparents. Zoe kept asking questions, and he kept repeating himself. When she asked him what he was going to do about school for tenth time, he’d yelled, “I don’t know what’s going on, Zoe. I gotta go. I’ll send you a letter soon.”

She cried then. He felt a pang of guilt and a growing depression.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Tell Brad to stay away from Lindsey. I’ll be back before school is out.”

She was still crying when she hung up. Hell, he felt like crying himself. With him out of the picture, Brad, his rival for Lindsey, had a perfect opportunity. He had no idea what his father and grandfather had cooked up, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be fun for him. He went upstairs to his bedroom without speaking to his grandparents. Shamus brought him dinner, but he didn’t eat.

The next day he and his grandfather hiked through the forest and up the mountain, pausing long enough to eat sandwiches and drink coffee. For the first time in his life, Hunter knew fear. His grandfather wouldn’t talk to him, and he couldn’t imagine what they were going to do in the woods. He couldn’t have talked much anyway; it took all his strength to keep up with the old man.

He adjusted the straps on his backpack, and felt its weight grow heavier. He wondered briefly if they would spend the night in the damp woods with no sleeping bags and shuddered at the thought.

Around sundown he thought the terrain looked familiar. Soon they reached a cabin he recognized from his childhood.

“We could have driven up here, couldn’t we?” he asked. “You’ll sleep well because of the walk. You need to sleep well tonight.” With no further explanation for that mysterious statement, Fraser went to the side of the cabin and turned on a generator. He came back across the front porch, unlocked the door and led Hunter inside.

Hunter was relieved to find the cabin had been modernized since his last visit, with a nice bathroom, a full kitchen and comfortable furnishings. At his grandfather’s direction he stowed his backpack in one of the two bedrooms. The two of them heated canned soup and ate it with crackers, topped off by peanut butter and jelly for dessert. Without being told, Hunter cleaned up. He sensed his grandfather wouldn’t tolerate him trying to get out of chores while they were here.

Fraser stood. “Shamus will be up here tomorrow with fresh food. He’ll deliver once a week while we’re here. Good night, boy.”

“Are we going to bed? It’s only eight o’clock,” Hunter said, astonished.

“There’s no TV or games here. If you need something to do there’s a good selection of books in the shelves. You might want to take a look at some of the ones about Scottish lore to get yourself ready.”

“Ready for what?” Hunter asked dumbly, but his grandfather had said all he intended.

After doing the dishes and taking a hot shower, Hunter took his grandfather’s advice and selected a book from the shelves in the living room. Though he wasn’t particularly interested in Scottish lore, there were few other choices. He fell asleep with the book propped in his hands. He dreamed of walking through dark, never-ending woods. He kept seeing the bright eyes of predators in the darkness but they never approached.

He awoke to rain pouring on the roof and the smell of pancakes and bacon. Shamus must have arrived with the food. His grandfather had a plate piled high for him when he got into the kitchen. He sat and drowned his pancakes in maple syrup.

Fraser poured himself another cup of coffee and sat across from his grandson.

“It’s time to give you your explanation, boy. I want to you to listen to what I have to say before you make any comments.”

Hunter poured more syrup on a new stack of pancakes and shrugged. What were his choices?

Fraser leaned back in his chair. He sipped his coffee one more time before he spoke.

“My great-great-grandfather Thomas MacRae lived in Nairn on the Moray Firth and made his living with the tavern and inn his father had established. Even though he was approaching his fortieth birthday, Thomas was not married. His reputation as a lover was well-known in the small town, but he had never settled down,” Fraser said, his lips barely curving in a half smile.

“He loved the sea and was walking along the shore one day when a young woman came toward him. She had the red hair and fair skin of a Scot and the beauty of an ancient siren. She looked distressed, and he immediately wanted to help her.

“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.