Isaac (The Clan Legacy Series)

by J. S. Striker

  He glanced through her kitchen once more, and to his relief, she was no longer there. But where were her curtains? Why were her windows all open?

  And why the hell was she undressing just for anyone out there to see?

  Arousal changed to irritation. Erik shook his head, deciding it was none of his business—for about five minutes.

  What if her desperate date came back and did more than look?

  Erik growled at the thought. Then he was marching out of his house and striding towards hers before he could even think about it.

  Someone needed to be lectured about the importance of safety and not undressing for the world to see.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That had to be one of the worst dates of her life.

  Charlotte tried not to let the frustration of the night get to her as she went to her bedroom to don a robe before going back to the kitchen. She took out ingredients from her cupboards, intent on baking some gooey brownies and drinking wine for the rest of the night.

  The evening had started pretty well. George had been nice and well-educated, and they got along well chatting over dinner. But then he started to hint about after dinner, and maybe she’d have considered it—if he had allowed the first date to stay as it was and asked her out for a second one.

  But no. Nice George turned into persistent George as he insisted that she needed to come to his apartment and see his new stereo. Then persistent George began to turn into desperate George as he then insisted to take her home, where he proceeded to give her a kiss before inviting himself inside for coffee.

  No, thank you.

  And that had to be the most unrequited kiss ever.

  She was done with men for now. None of the guys in town were just worth it anymore—though, if she was to be more honest with herself, perhaps the problem lay with her. It seemed like she couldn’t feel anything with any of the guys she’d gone out with, no matter how charming or handsome or well-mannered they were. The kiss with George didn’t even feel good—it felt like she was kissing her brother, and Lord knew that wasn’t exciting at all.

  As for sex? Charlotte opened a package of chocolate chips almost viciously. It wasn’t anything home to write about, either.

  She was about to measure all the ingredients when the ding on her bell sounded. She groaned.

  Oh, lord. Did George come back?

  He so was gonna get an ear full.

  Charlotte left the kitchen and stalked towards the front door, glancing down to pull her robe tighter around her. She pasted another polite smile on her face and opened her mouth at the same time, intent on driving him away.

  “George, you really ought to go home, I’m really lacking sleep and…”

  Her voice trailed off when she finally absorbed the sight in front of her.

  It was a man she didn’t know—a vision of a man, to be exact, with a body that looked hard and unrelenting and a face that was equal parts gorgeous and striking. Muscles were obvious on the thighs encased in blue jeans, and under the plain white shirt he wore. There were also tattoos there, swirling just underneath his short sleeves, and it made her itch to touch.

  What a visual, appealing body.

  Then Charlotte got to perusing his face again, where she was treated to the sight of a firm, sensuous mouth, a well-defined jaw, a head of black hair, and eyes that were a deep, smoky gray.

  Oh, God. And she thought he was George. And she—

  “You really ought to buy some curtains.”

  Charlotte blinked, her thoughts interrupted.

  “I’m sorry?”

  It was then that she noticed that his eyes were doing the same perusal as well—only the way he did his felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, and her body reacted almost like...it liked it. Heat shot in her stomach, unbidden.

  “You’re proudly displaying all your assets to all the perverts out there.”

  His words registered. Her eyes flew back up to meet his, and she finally realized that there was a hint of irritation there.

  “My assets?” she echoed.

  He did that eye perusal again until she couldn’t mistake his words. Her interest turned to outrage in the span of a second.

  “You were looking at me undress?” she spat out.

  One side of his mouth slid up in a sardonic smile. “Sweetheart, you were just begging me to look.”

  Of all the rude, pigheaded things to say.

  The outrage increased, making Charlotte lift her chin and scoff at him indignantly. “I didn’t expect there to be a pervert watching me. I live alone here…”

  Her voice trailed off. She did live alone here, with her only nearby neighbor being the forest, a family who were on vacation, and an empty house beside hers. Her stance grew rigid in a defensive pose, and she ran through her mind all the things she had in her house that she could use to hit him. God, her gun was in the drawer in her room.

  For some reason, the man seemed to read what she was thinking about. She heard a soft curse come from him, the irritability in his tone increasing.

  “I’m not a serial killer,” he ground out. “I’m not a rapist, either.”

  “I never said—”

  “Erik O’Riley.”

  He held out a hand. She glanced at the house to her right, where she noticed that the light on the front porch was now turned on.

  Mortification filled her.

  “Your sheriff is John Malone. I’m good friends with him.”

  “I know that,” she said, her mouth dry. It was the sheriff himself who told her and the other family before they left for vacation that he was having a friend of his stay at the house next door for the summer—something about the man needing to be away from the city for a while.

  Feeling guilty all of a sudden, Charlotte took the hand he offered and shook it. “Charlotte Brandt.”

  And wished she hadn’t.

  The moment their hands touched, the heat in her belly spread. Electricity traveled through her fingers, a jolt that took whatever breath she had left out of her body. Her breasts tingled out of her own accord, and she saw his eyes darken from gray to an almost black color.

  “Then you know you can’t undress like that anymore,” he murmured.

  “Fine,” she said, breathless. She removed her hand from his grip, scalded. “Curtains.”

  “And be mindful of your neighbors. Others might have the decency to be embarrassed about it…but I always look, Miss Brandt.”

  With that scathing remark, he nodded his head once. Charlotte gaped for a second before her eyes narrowed.

  “Gentlemen wouldn’t look, Mr. O’Riley,” she shot back.

  “I’m not a gentleman.”

  “That’s pretty obvious.”

  “And lock your doors at night,” he said tightly.

  Then he was stalking away from her driveway without so much as a goodbye. Suddenly furious, Charlotte slammed the door before she could start ogling his ass and make an idiot out of herself.

  Her heart was beating so fast, and she had to put a hand over it to calm herself down.

  Great. She wasn’t attracted to boring, perfectly nice men, but she was off the charts over a rude one.

  No can do.

  Charlotte locked her door, as he oh-so-arrogantly instructed.

  Then she stalked towards the kitchen, intent on baking brownies and forgetting about arrogant jerks.

  *****

  The sound on her front door woke Charlotte up in the middle of the night—pounding sounds, so loud that she could hear them through her own bedroom. She stumbled out of bed immediately, pausing only to rummage blindly in the dark for her gun before tiptoeing towards the living room. She didn’t dare turn any light on to gain some advantage.

  Who on earth would be at her house at this time of the night?

  She had her hand on the knob, about to call out to ask who it was when instincts kicked in and stopped her from saying anything. An ominous feeling settled in her chest, heavy and making breathing di
fficult.

  There was something out there, her instincts screamed. Something dark and dangerous.

  She took one more step forward, as quiet as a mouse.

  Charlotte froze when scratching sounds started. It was faint, and it only lasted a few seconds. Then it was followed by the sound of footsteps crunching on her gravel—not necessarily announcing itself, but not bothering to be all discreet about it either.

  More scratching near her kitchen. Her blood went cold as she inched towards it, her hand trembling as she furiously tried to think if she locked it—if she closed the second door or just let the glass door stand—

  She arrived in the kitchen.

  Locked.

  More scratching. It was fainter now, almost as if…taunting her.

  Human? A wolf? But there were no wolves around here usually.

  Charlotte stayed where she was, frozen in place as she listened. Her body was trembling, but her hand was steady, ready to pull the trigger at any second.

  The scratching stopped, leaving a menacing silence in the air.

  Gravel crunched. Footsteps retreated.

  But Charlotte didn’t open the door. Instead, she stayed near the couch and kept her senses on alert, searching her mind for what it could be. Her first suspect was Erik, but it didn’t stick.

  Humans simply didn’t scratch doors like that.

  She was going to have to guard herself tonight and report to the sheriff early tomorrow.

  Then maybe, just maybe, find out more about this Erik O’Riley.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The creature certainly didn’t waste time once it got to town.

  Erik had a light sleep of about two hours before he heard it—someone stalking outside, but not on his yard. It hadn’t taken him long to remove his sweatpants, which was the only thing he was wearing before quietly opening the bedroom window and slipping out in the dead of night.

  There was no full moon, but that was no problem for Erik. He could see his own yard pretty clearly, filled with enough bushes for him to hide in. So he snuck over to one until he was relatively covered and let his eyes sweep the area slowly.

  His gaze stopped as a shadow moved in Charlotte’s yard. He crawled even closer, as close as he dared without disturbing any of the loose stones or branches. The shadow stepped closer, a black blur that seemed small from this distance as it moved towards Charlotte’s front porch. It paused there, perfectly still, and Erik was finally able to view it fully.

  It wasn’t as small as he thought.

  The creature was unlike any he’d ever seen before. It had the body of a hyena, only bigger, with spots at differing spaces and a tail that was filled with dull yellow spikes. Its paws were huge, not necessarily paws but more a scatter of sharp claws that were too pointed and sharp—almost like a predator bird’s, he realized. The size alone could tear anything that got in its way, but it barely left any evidence of footsteps in the yard, an indication that it was light on its feet.

  The face was filled with pockmarks, sharp, serrated teeth in a huge jaw, and dull yellow eyes.

  What the hell was he looking at?

  Erik tensed as the creature began pounding on the door, even when it only lasted a few seconds. Pounding turned to scratching, and he waited in his spot and readied himself to shift as images of Charlotte turning on her lights filled his mind—as well as that of her opening the door.

  She’d be dead on the spot.

  More seconds passed, and the scratching continued. But no light was turned on, and no sounds came from inside. Unless she was a heavy sleeper, he doubted she’d have missed all that commotion.

  Which meant she was one smart girl.

  The creature gave up scratching, lurking at the corners with its eyes fixed on the house. Then it started scratching at the back again, softer this time, almost as if testing.

  What was it up to?

  Erik made a move forward—and almost wished he didn’t, because even if he didn’t make any noise, the creature’s head came up, staring straight in his direction. He saw cold, merciless eyes, that of a cold-blooded predator.

  Then the creature ran away in a blur.

  He inwardly cursed. Then Erik went sprinting after it into the forest where it went, feeling his body vibrate with an energy for a few seconds as he leapt in the air. When he landed, his hands and feet were gone, replaced by paws. His body was different, too.

  He was now a predator.

  The forest usually made a lot of noise at night, but this time Erik couldn’t hear the shuffle of tiny animals or the hoot of an owl. He ran as fast as his body could carry him, but it seemed the creature was fast—faster than he’d given it credit for, already disappearing from his sight. He came across a clearing by a creek, and pointedly stopped just before the trees gave way, his ears waiting for any sudden movement or sound.

  None came.

  He’d completely lost it.

  Still not wanting to give up, Erik kept running, circling the area twice, trying to catch movement or any unusual scent in the air. But there really was nothing. Usually, most creatures left at least something behind—a trace or an essence, a whiff for him to keep tracking.

  But there was nothing.

  Frustration hit the back of his throat as he circled the area for the third time. He waited some more—but two hours later proved no trace of it still, and he couldn’t very well stay here for long. Dawn was coming.

  Erik snuck back towards his house, careful to cover his trails. He glanced towards Charlotte’s and found that her lights were still turned off, so he swerved in that direction, careful not to pass by the windows. He studied the front door, then the back. No scratches.

  Quietly, he went back to his house and called a number.

  “O’Riley?” a gruff, sleepy voice on the other line asked. “Why the hell are you calling so early?”

  Erik proceeded to launch into a description of the creature he saw, not leaving any detail out as the other line stayed silent. He wasn’t quiet for long, not when it came to Killian Malarkey, who always wanted to stay on top of information.

  “Is it confirmed that there’s only one?”

  “No,” Erik said. “My gut instincts are telling me we’re dealing with more. I need backup, Killian.”

  “And we both know your gut instincts are always on par,” Killian muttered. “I’ll send you assistance tomorrow. Update the sheriff and update me.”

  They talked some more before finally hanging up, after which Erik called the sheriff next. But John Malone already knew, apparently a certain someone had already called him.

  “Keep an eye on Charlotte, Erik,” John said. “That girl likes solving things on her own.”

  “It’s my job,” was Erik’s simple response before he hung up—and it was, because the bear clan was being paid to do this job. Usually they reserved their forces for city problems within the shifter community, but Killian had decided to make an exception when it came to John, who was an old friend of his.

  Erik sighed. He’d get some much needed sleep. Then he was going to keep searching for that monster that was up to no good.

  *****

  The loud pounding on his door woke him abruptly out of a light sleep, and Erik groaned. It felt like the start of a headache was forming, courtesy of the bottle of whiskey he’d drunk to get himself sleepy. Usually liquor had no effect on him, but he did finish the whole bottle to get rid of the adrenaline that coursed through his body and kept him awake.

  He opened the door and glared, expecting the sheriff.

  “Damn early to disturb me.”

  Except it wasn’t the sheriff.

  Charlotte stood on his porch, looking too appealing for her own good in short shorts and a cotton shirt that hugged her tiny curves. His mind stood at attention—and it wasn’t the only thing that did. His mind also reminded him of images of her last night, when she’d been all riled up and donning a thin robe that showed off too much leg.

  Inwardly cursing himself a
t his inappropriate thoughts, he peered at her.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Her initial surprise at his greeting disappeared, and Charlotte frowned at him. “Did you hear any weird sounds last night?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “There were some scratching and pounding noises at my doors last night.”

  He raised a brow, undecided whether to keep her in the dark or not. In the end, he decided it was in her best interests that she didn’t know.

  “Maybe your hot date came back for some more?” he suggested, adding just a bit of leer in his tone.

  Her mouth dropped open, drawing his gaze to her lips. Damn. He’d give anything to taste them right now—to taste her. Their attraction was off the charts, and it was so damned inconvenient.

  Your job, O’Riley.

  Right.

  He wanted a hot fuck. She was a relationship type of girl—that much was obvious.

  Not going to work.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she declared. “For all I know, you did the scratching to make fun of me.”

  He hadn’t expected that. Erik would have let it slide—would have even played along if it wasn’t for the real nerves he saw in her eyes. He opened the door wider and stepped forward, ignoring—for his own sake—the way her gaze raked over his sweatpants-clad body before remembering herself and looking him straight in the eye.

  “I would never hurt a woman or give her any reason to feel unsafe,” he murmured, voice serious, watching her expression until she reluctantly nodded. Then he lightened his tone, turning it playful. “But I wouldn’t protest if a gorgeous woman offered another free strip tease...”

  Her eyes widened. Then she glared at him, practically spitting fire.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. O’Riley,” she said stiffly. “Maybe you should stop drinking so much so you’d actually wake up early and know what’s going on in this neighborhood.”

  Charlotte was already stomping away before he could even get a word in, and he was torn between laughing his ass off and pulling her back in his arms.

  He wanted her. He couldn’t have her, not without complications.