Page 35 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

M y obsession with Lily isn’t just a problem—it’s a plague, eating through every bone, every thought, every drop of blood in my body.

It’s wrong.

God help me, it’s perfect.

She belongs with me. No—she belongs to me. And the sooner I prove that to the world, the sooner I can stop tearing through life like a wrecking ball. Because without her, that’s all I am—pure destruction looking for something to burn.

The pizzeria’s neon sign bleeds red across the wet pavement, throwing the street into a feverish glow. I stand across the road in the shadows, face hidden, hoodie drawn low, the thin veil of my mask clinging to my skin. Through the big front window, I can see her—my Lily—sitting across from him.

Another man.

If it wasn’t enough that I’ve had to tolerate Justin Collins sniffing around her, now there’s this one. And I’ve barely finished dealing with Patrick McCordy—removing that parasite from her orbit—when this new contender shows up like he’s got a right to breathe her air .

My fists curl tight, the bones in my hands aching. I watch them with a stare that could peel flesh from bone.

She’d be better off with me. She’d be safe with me.

I know she feels it—that thrum of electricity every time I’m near enough for my breath to brush her skin.

I haven’t had the chance to get closer than that…

yet. But my time is coming. I can feel it in the marrow of my wicked bones.

Lily Snow will fall into my lap, whether the world likes it or not.

I’ve been drawn to her since the first time I saw her—drawn like a starving man to a lit window. That smile. That laugh. The way she walks into a room and rewrites it.

At first, I kept my distance. Watched. Waited. Let her light warm me without reaching for it. But the longer I stayed in her orbit, the more it twisted into something sharp. Something unholy. Admiration rotted into obsession, and obsession became the only language my body spoke.

I follow her everywhere now.

I watch her every move.

I go to sleep with her face in my head, and she’s still there when I wake.

And the best part? She doesn’t waste her time on any of the other worthless men that buzz around her like flies. That makes her rarer. More valuable. More mine.

It’s driven me to do things other men would call insane—slipping into her apartment at night, just to stand in the dark and listen to her breathe.

The roommate’s a complication, sure, but she’s a heavy sleeper.

Snores like a dying lawnmower. I could take her out of the picture, but I won’t.

Not because I couldn’t—because I won’t .

Hurting Lily, even by proxy, is not an option.

I’m not here to harm her. I’m here to watch. To guard. To claim.

Tonight, I’m guarding from the shadows, and I don’t like what I’m seeing .

The man’s hand slides toward hers across the table. I tense, ready to move—then she flinches back.

Good girl. My girl.

Whatever she says next makes it clear—this isn’t romance. It’s business.

I track every flicker of her expression through the glass, reading her face like scripture.

When she storms out of the pizzeria, I slip from the shadows, just enough for the night to catch on my shape, but I keep my distance. Walker trails after her, bold enough—or stupid enough—to lay his hand on her again.

She snaps at him, her voice sharp as shattered glass, and he jerks back a step like she’s cut him open with the sound alone. For a moment, I almost smile—almost. Then her eyes flick and land on me.

Half in shadow, half one breath away from stepping forward and tearing Bentley apart. My muscles coil, ready to move, to silence him for daring to put his filthy hands on what’s mine.

And she feels it. She must, because danger rolls off me in waves, heavy and poisonous, thick enough to choke the night air.

Like she can taste the violence building in my throat.

So she does the only thing she can—she grabs his arm, fingers clamping down, and drags him forward, forcing his steps to match hers.

Her stride is quick. Purposeful. A retreat disguised as control. But she turns once, just once, her face tilting back over her shoulder. Eyes scanning the darkness. She doesn’t see me. Not really. But something in her gut tells her I’m here, breathing her name like a curse.

Their silhouettes stretch in the jaundiced glow of the streetlights, brushing, side by side, close enough that it burns me to look at. Each shadowed step makes my chest tighten, my jaw grind. He doesn’t deserve to walk beside her. Doesn’t deserve to breathe her air.

I trail them, my steps clipped, silent, swallowed by the hum of distant traffic.

I melt into the dark, a phantom on their heels.

Close enough that if he even twitches wrong, if his gaze drips too far down her body, if his hand so much as twitches toward her skin—I’ll be on him.

A shadow splitting into teeth and bone, tearing him open before he can scream.

The campus looms ahead, sterile buildings jutting up against the sky like gravestones. She gestures toward her dorm, but he doesn’t look where she points. No. His gaze lingers on her too long. Longingly.

You missed your chance, asshole. She’s not yours. She’s not anyone’s but mine.

They’re taking too damn long to say goodbye. From the dark, I can see his hands twitch with the urge to touch her. That’s when my patience breaks.

I step forward.

The hood shadows my eyes, the mask conceals the rest. The sweatpants, the stance—everything about me broadcasts danger. I want him to feel it. I want her to feel it.

I pick up a stone and let it clatter against the concrete in front of me. The sound snaps them both around.

Lily gasps.

Bentley Walker—because that’s who the idiot is—just stares. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t run. Hands twitch at his sides like he’s ready for something, but his eyes give him away.

There’s no mistaking what I am right now.

Danger. Malice. Cunning carved into bone. I am the monster her mother would have prayed she’d never meet, the shadow that hunts without pause.

I am a ghost, and ghosts don’t care who they have to kill to get what they want .

And what I want is Lily Snow.

I watch that dumb fuck Bentley Walker walk away from her.

His steps are slow, like he’s not sure he should leave.

He doesn’t want to. I can see it in the way his shoulders hunch, in the way his head tilts back toward her even when he’s trying to put distance between them.

If it were up to him, he’d plant himself at her side and never move again.

But he doesn’t belong there. Not with her. Not like I do.

Lily doesn’t look back. Not once. She just keeps walking, and I watch Bentley stop, turn, her name dying in his throat before it ever reaches her.

If he could keep her forever, he would.

Pathetic loser.

And it makes me want to break something.

I get it—she’s beautiful. I understand why men circle her like starving dogs. But that doesn’t make it easier. I already had to swat away Patrick McCordy with his sad, moony eyes, and Justin Collins with his whiny, clingy little crush. But Bentley Walker? He’s the worst of them.

Bentley Walker is my biggest complication, my biggest thorn. He’s the kind of man the world fawns over—strong jaw, broad shoulders, that easy charm girls confuse for safety. He’s leaving today, or so I’ve heard, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.

When she comes back to her dorm hours later, I’m already inside.

I’ve touched everything she’s touched—her desk, her books, the spine of the novel she’s halfway through.

I trail my fingers over the places hers have been, like I can catch some echo of her warmth, like if I press hard enough, the connection between us will spark into something physical .

“You really should knock before you enter,” I rasp from behind her.

She freezes. Shoulders tense. Breath catches. She knows I’m here now. I hear the chain on the door slide into place behind me—insurance, in case her roommate comes back too soon.

She doesn’t turn around. Just stands there, breathing slow, shallow. I step closer, letting my presence crowd her. My breath ghosts across the back of her neck. I inhale. Orange blossom. Jasmine. Sweet and sharp and entirely hers. It makes my teeth ache.

“Your best friend finally leave today, Lily?” I ask, voice edged with venom.

A pause, like she’s trying to figure out who I mean. Then: “You mean Bentley?”

She knows. She gets me.

I close the space until my chest is pressed to her back, until I’m practically molding myself around her. “You don’t know how close I came to tearing him apart when I saw his hands on you.”

Her breath shudders out, and I can hear her heart knocking against her ribs.

“Why didn’t you?” she whispers.

I don’t answer. Instead, I slide my fingers into her hair, gather it into a ponytail, and tug until her head tips back.

I press my lips to her temple, slow and deliberate.

Her skin smells like temptation, and for a second, I imagine peeling it from her bones and wearing it like armor.

I want to be inside her. In her skin, in her blood.

I want us fused so tight we can’t ever be separated.

“You don’t know what it does to me, seeing another man touch you.”

She trembles—but it’s not fear I smell. It’s heat. She’s turned on. She wants this.

“Who are you?” she gasps. “I want to see… ”

Her hand shoots for my mask, but I step back before she can reach it. I tilt my head, slow and deliberate, and shake it.

“Uh-uh. You see me when I’m ready to show you.”

“Why? What are you hiding from?”

Inquisitive little thing. Always asking questions. Always picking at my edges. I like it more than I should.

“Turn around, Lily.”

She obeys, but I can feel the defiance radiating off her. She wants to play, just not by my rules.

“Hands behind your back,” I tell her.

Her eyes flash, but she does it. I pull the cuffs from my pocket and snap them around her wrists before she can change her mind. She makes a small, caught sound but doesn’t fight me.

I turn her to face me. Her eyes lock on mine, unblinking, as if she’s trying to see past the mask. Even when she’s furious, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—dark chocolate eyes, lips made to ruin men.

I cup her face in both hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks. She’s soft, impossibly soft, and I’m a man made of jagged edges. She’s the only gentle thing I’ll ever touch. And I’ll guard her with every violent bone in my body.

“So fucking beautiful,” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear. I blow across her skin, feel her arch toward me, greedy for more.

“Please,” she breathes.

“Please what, Lily?”

“I can’t…” Her voice fractures, the rest lost.

She doesn’t need to finish. The way she squeezes her thighs together tells me everything. My girl is hungry. And she’s begging to be fucked.