Free Blood Hunt by Shannon K. Butcher

always adored memories.”
    His eyes brightened, seeming to glow from within for a split second. His aura shifted, pulsing with an infrared flush of desire. Hope felt herself lean forward, trying to get closer.
    Logan reached out and drew one finger from her forehead, down her temple, over her cheek, and onto her neck. A heated shiver swept through her as his finger made contact with the spot his mouth had been last night. “I’d like you to share yours with me.”
    “Share?” she asked, her voice barely there. Her chest was tight with longing, leaving little room for air.
    Not that she needed it. She didn’t need anything except the sight of this man and the feel of his fingers on her skin. It made her insane, but there was no help for that now.
    “I only want a quick peek. Just a glimpse of the woman you are.”
    His hand slid around her neck, curling at her nape. He pulled her close, bowing his head until his forehead rested against hers.
    He smelled of sunlight on snow—cold and clean. But the warmth of his skin seemed to burn into hers.
    This wasn’t right. There was something odd about him, and she needed to put some space between them in order to clear her senses and figure out what it was.
    She shifted her weight to take a step back and was suddenly jerked against his torso, his arm wrapped around her, his hand splayed low on her hip. The hold was possessive. His grip demanding.
    “Just relax,” he whispered, and she was sure she could feel it in her mind as well as hear it in her ears. “I won’t hurt you.”
    There was a hot pressure behind her eyes—not painful, but not right. It didn’t belong. She instinctively fought the invasion, which seemed only to make it worse.
    “Let go, lovely. Let me inside.”
    His words made heat flare in her belly. She pulled in a gasping breath. This wasn’t right. It felt good, but it wasn’t right.
    Hope had no chance of breaking his grip. His body felt like hot steel against her front, his arms hard metal bands. And he smelled so good. She kept dragging his scent into her lungs, letting it become a part of her. She was losing herself in this man, slipping away.
    With a surge of willpower, Hope gritted her teeth and shoved against that pressure in her head. “No!” she shouted, pushing him away.
    Logan flew backward, slamming into the pavement.
    Shock held Hope immobile as the realization of what she’d done set in. Her whole body trembled with fear and fatigue. A headache screamed behind her eyes. Her breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps, billowing in the cold air.
    He pushed gracefully to his feet, his eyes never leaving her. “What are you?”
    Not who. What.
    Hope had always known she wasn’t normal. The best guess of the doctors had placed her in her late teens or early twenties the night her life began. There were no records of her birth. No parents. No friends. Not a single person had come forward when her photo had been plastered all over TV and newspapers. No one claimed her. Except Sister Olive.
    And now, nearly a decade later, Logan was voicing her deepest fears. No one had claimed her because no one knew her. It was as if she’d been plunked down, out of nowhere. An alien.
    Or worse.
    She’d always pretended she was normal. Her memory loss was a head injury no doctor could find on any CAT scan or MRI. She’d built a life for herself—a home for herself—based around a fundamental, flimsy lie: Hope was human.
    Between Logan’s question and the powerful outburst she’d just displayed, Hope’s house of cards was beginning to fall.
    “Leave me alone,” she said, her words lacking the strength she’d intended to give them.
    Logan dusted off his jeans and shook his head. “Not on your life. I need you.”
    Hope scoffed at that, letting out a laugh of derision she couldn’t contain. “I bet you do.” She nodded down at the bulge in his jeans—the one she’d been trying to avoid acknowledging.
    “Would my erection be less offensive if I