Page 102 of Creeping Lily

“Why do you wear the mask?” I ask, the question cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Titan doesn’t move at first. His head tilts slightly, and his eyes—dark through the openings—flicker with something I can’t read. Earlier, before his shower, the mask had been streaked in blood, the kind that clings to every groove and refuses to come off without a fight. Now, the one he wears is spotless. Too spotless. It’s unnerving, the contrast between the violence I watched him commit and the clean, untouched surface staring back at me.

His gaze sweeps over me, quick but deliberate, as if assessing whether the question is worth answering at all. “Obviously, because I don’t want people to see me,” he says at last, his tone dry and edged with sarcasm.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my curiosity pushing past my better judgment. “So you’re hiding because you’re a criminal?”

A low scoff slips from him—sharp, dismissive. He turns his head just slightly, enough to show me the hard line of his jaw beneath the mask. It’s not a big movement, but it drips with disdain… or maybe discomfort. I can’t tell which.

“Everyone’s concept of criminality varies,” he says. His eyes find mine again, and even half-obscured, they burn with an intensity that makes me hold my breath. There’s something in them—something I’m sure he’ll never admit—that says his story is far more complicated than the labelcriminalcould ever cover.

He lets the words hang there for a moment before continuing. “Criminality,” he says, slower now, his voice carrying a note of defiance, “is as fluid as the definitions people impose on it. What one person sees as a crime, another might see as survival. A necessity. A means to an end.”

I shift on the sofa, the firelight warming my skin even as a cold awareness creeps up my spine. “Well, that’s interesting,” I say, steepling my fingers between my thighs, my tone sharper than I mean it to be. “That you don’t see yourself as a criminal.”

“Like I said,” he replies, leaning back into his chair as though the conversation costs him nothing. “Concepts.”

The flames snap loudly, sending sparks up the chimney. His mask catches the light for a second, reflecting the fire in a brief glint. It’s the closest thing to a tell I’ve gotten from him all night—proof that there’s something under there that shifts, reacts, even if I can’t see it.

But then it’s gone, and we’re back to the same impasse: me wanting answers, him deciding which truths I’m allowed to have.

And right now, I’m not sure which of us is more dangerous—the man behind the mask… or me, for wanting to know him badly enough to keep asking.

53

TITAN

For a man who’s stalked his prey for months, I’m doing a damn good job of keeping my desires in check.

Lily Snow is here, in my cabin. Alone. As alone as we’ll ever be. She’s at my mercy—my prisoner, my responsibility, my obsession. Any other man in my position—any lesser man—would’ve taken what he wanted by now.

But I’m not just any man.

I’m the one who wants to dismantle her walls piece by piece, to strip her down until I’ve seen every raw, trembling part of her… and then put her back together, better, stronger—but mine. I want to own her, control her, completely and without apology, until there’s no part of her life untouched by my hand.

And I’m the same man who will slit a throat without hesitation to keep her safe.

The last scraps of daylight fade beyond the windows, swallowed by the creeping dark. The cabin settles into the stillness of night. She shifts in her seat, her movements slow and heavy, her eyes dipping closed before fluttering open again. She’s fighting sleep, but not winning.

“I’ll take the sofa,” I tell her, my voice steady, even thoughevery part of me wants to crawl into that bed, curl around her, and feel the warmth of her pressed against me.

Her gaze flicks to the bed—the only bed in the cabin. Big enough for one. Barely for two.

“I’ll take the sofa,” she counters.

We volley back and forth for a minute, and I don’t understand why she’s fighting me on this. It’s simple: either we both take the bed—a suggestion I know she’ll shut down—or one of us takes the bed and the other the couch.

“I don’t mind, really,” she says at last, her voice carrying a note of apology, like she’s putting me out.

I want to laugh in her face.Hello, Lily Snow, I kidnapped you. Remember?

Instead, I shake my head and cross the small room in two strides. I drop onto the couch, stretching out until I take up every inch of it, staking my claim. If nothing else, I can do chivalry when it suits me.

“Bed’s yours,” I tell her, turning onto my side so I can watch her.

Our eyes lock, and the air between us feels heavy, thick with the weight of all the words we’re not saying. I see the vulnerability there, the cracks starting to show in the walls she’s built around herself.

She moves to the bed, slips her shoes off and tucks them under the frame. She sits on the edge, her shoulders tight, her back straight, reluctant to lie down. I know she’s not afraid of me—not in the way she probably should be. She’s smart enough to know that if I wanted to, I would’ve taken her already. I would’ve told her the bed was big enough for two. I would’ve found my way into her head, twisted my way into her trust.