Page 20 of Creeping Lily

LILY

T he alley yawns before me—long, narrow, and swallowing light whole. A cold wind snakes through, dragging with it the stink of rotting garbage and old rain. It’s the kind of place where bad things happen quietly, where shadows have teeth.

It’s empty. Or at least, it looks empty.

I stand still, letting the night air scrape against my lungs, willing my pulse to slow.

The breeze cuts across my skin, cool and almost tender—like a lie meant to keep me from noticing the danger.

But I can’t stay here forever. If I’m gone too long, people will notice.

And I don’t want anyone coming out here looking for me.

With a reluctant sigh, I turn back toward the heavy door, my hand lifting to the handle.

That’s when it hits me.

A weight slams into my back, crushing me into the brick wall so hard my breath rips out of me in a single, helpless gasp. The world narrows to the sound of my heartbeat—wild, frantic, animal fast. My cheek grinds against the cold brick as I twist, desperate to see who’s there .

A shadow towers over me. Tall. Broad. A hood pulled low hides his face in darkness.

Then he presses closer, his body blanketing mine, blocking every exit. His size alone makes escape impossible. And deep down, I already know the truth: men don’t pin women to walls for innocent reasons.

Ask me how I know.

“What—”

“Shhh… Lily.”

The sound of my name in his voice detonates inside me. He knows me. Not just my face—my name. My skin goes cold.

“What do you want?” My voice is barely there.

His breath finds my ear, warm and invasive, curling into me like smoke.

His voice is hoarse, frayed at the edges with something that sounds a lot like hunger.

He smells like oud and leather, sandalwood layered over sharp pine.

It’s intoxicating—familiar in a way that feels dangerous, like the scent itself could topple walls or ruin kingdoms.

A hand finds the small of my back. Light pressure, almost gentle. It’s a warning disguised as reassurance. His other hand skims down my side and clamps around my waist like he’s anchoring me there.

“What do I want?” His whisper drips with control. “What do you suppose I want, Lily?”

“I—I don’t know,” I stammer.

“I want you to be a good girl. My good girl .”

My good girl. The words slide under my skin like a blade.

“Who are you?”

“That’s not important.”

“How do you know my name?” I blurt, my voice cracking.

He presses forward until my spine protests against the wall. The message is clear: I talk too much. And for reasons I can’t make sense of, the fear begins to blur at the edges. Maybe because I’ve been here before—in different corners, in different forms—expecting the worst.

“Lily.”

Just my name. But it’s heavy, soaked in something dark and claiming.

“Lily,” he breathes. “ My Lily .”

His hand circles my throat, fingers tightening until I feel the thrum of my pulse against his palm. It’s not a choke. But it’s a promise. His touch is too familiar, too knowing. This isn’t chance. He’s thought about this. Planned it.

His hand slides down my spine, slow and deliberate, until it rests on the curve above my ass like it belongs there. I choke on the air, torn between wanting to shove him away and wanting to breathe him in just to understand why my body betrays me.

“Please…”

“Please what, Lily?”

“Please, what do you want?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

Tears sting my eyes, hot and humiliating. I can’t believe I’m here again—at someone’s mercy. The universe must have a sick sense of humor.

He grips my waist tighter, pulling me into him until I can feel every sharp ridge of his body pressing through the thin barrier of my dress.

“You’re mine, Lily. You always have been.”

“Wh… who?”

“My beautiful Lily.” His nose buries into my hair, inhaling me like I’m oxygen. His scent wraps around me, drowns me, makes me forget where I am for one disorienting second.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

“I’m your salvation,” he says, voice gravel and heat against my ear. “Your retribution. Your sin. Your penance.”

I shiver. His hand comes around to my throat again, pushing my head back until his breath ghosts my temple. No matter how I tilt, I can’t catch his face—just that hood and the shadow inside it.

He crushes me into the wall one last time, lips dragging over the side of my neck in three slow, possessive kisses before hovering just above my mouth. I feel the ghost of a smile in the air between us. Then—he’s gone.

I turn in time to see him melting into the darkness, hands in his hoodie pockets, like he didn’t just crawl into my life and lay claim to it.

And me? I’m left standing there, breathless and shaking, my thighs trembling with something that disgusts me. Because no matter how much I want to deny it, my body’s response tells me exactly how broken I really am.