Page 37 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

I watch her on the app, jaw grinding as her little dot moves across the map.

Lily Snow. Out alone. Again.

You’d think by now she’d have learned. You’d think she’d know this campus after dark isn’t empty—it’s crawling. With men who wait for shadows to cover their sins. With monsters who see a girl walking alone as an open invitation.

The school pretends otherwise, of course. The Dean signs checks. Victims disappear from reports. Families are paid to keep their mouths shut. But you can’t smother the smell of rot forever.

That’s why Colt University brought in Goliath.

We aren’t cops. We aren’t security. We don’t wear uniforms. We clean. We hunt. We make problems disappear—permanently.

And for me, there’s only one reason I’m here. Her.

She’s wearing jeans, a Henley, and a jacket too thin for the bite in the air. I track her leaving the library—too late for her to be out. Anything after nine is a bad idea. She knows that. Hell, she’s had close calls before. But she just keeps pushing her luck .

Her pace quickens. She looks over her shoulder. And like an idiot, she cuts through the park.

“Don’t,” I mutter.

But she does. The short cut. The trap. Once you’re in that park at night, you’re invisible. No one sees you. No one hears you scream.

That’s when I see him. A dark figure trailing her. Big. Moving with intent.

I flick my cigarette to the ground and start walking along the opposite path. I already know how this ends.

They come into view. His hand hits her shoulder and spins her, slamming her into a tree so hard I hear the bark splinter.

She fights, small hands clawing at him, kneeing at air.

He dwarfs her, his bulk pressing her into the trunk.

He’s wearing a ski mask—coward. Nothing I hate more than a man who takes from a woman while hiding his face.

The sound of denim rasping against her skin grinds through my brain, tearing at something deep.

I cross the distance slow, deliberate, letting the rage coil tight inside me. When I’m close enough, I tear him off her as though I’m ripping a weed from the ground and throw him across the grass.

For a second, it’s just me and her. Her chest heaves.

Her eyes are wide, locked on me. Her fear is thick in the air, tangling with the scent of cold earth and sweat.

She’s beautiful like this—terrified and alive.

My fingers twitch with the need to touch her, to keep her where I can see her, but I’d only scare her more.

She’s not safe with me either, right now.

“ Run .” My voice is a hiss, all teeth and fire.

She bolts. Like the good girl she is. She doesn’t even glance back. The fog swallows her whole, and I turn to the only thing worth my time .

The bastard’s already up, knife in hand, shoulders squared. He’s not running.

Good.

“You hunting tonight, asshole?” I tilt my head, studying him like an insect I’m deciding whether to dissect alive.

His voice comes out low and raspy through the ski mask. “I’m going to kill you first… before I finish what you so rudely interrupted.”

I almost laugh. “Take your best shot, asshole.”

He lunges—fast, not sloppy this time—and the blade whistles past my ribs. I pivot, but he follows through, snapping a kick into my thigh hard enough to make me grunt.

“Oh,” I say, smirking through the sting. It’s deliciously painful, and I wouldn’t mind another, let him think he has the upper hand. “Little boy wants to play in the big boy’s jungle.”

“That your girl?” he spits. “Maybe I’ll finish her after I finish you.”

My temper snaps. I shoot forward, catching his wrist mid-swing, the knife stopping inches from my side. I twist, bone grinding under my grip, but he surprises me—drives his forehead into mine. Pain blooms white-hot, and my hold loosens just enough for him to shove me back.

“You think you’re some kind of hero?” he snarls. “You’re just another freak who gets off on violence.”

“Difference is,” I say, stepping in close, “I’m better at it.”

He slashes for my gut. I sidestep, grab his arm, and wrench it up behind him until the tendons scream under my fingers. He slams an elbow into my jaw, breaking free, and spins with a backhand slash that opens the sleeve of my shirt.

The fog wraps around us, swallowing the sound except for our breathing—ragged, fast, animal.

I lunge low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hits the ground but rolls, boots connecting with my ribs. I stumble, and he’s on me, knife flashing, both of us grappling for control. His breath smells like sweat and metal through the mask, hot against my face.

“You touched the wrong girl,” I growl, shoving my forearm into his throat.

“She’s just another hole,” he chokes out.

The red haze comes down hard. I slam my fist into his face—once, twice, three times—feeling cartilage give under my knuckles. He kicks up into my gut again, and I catch his leg, twisting until his knee strains with a sickening pop. His scream rips through the fog.

I drop him, but only to grab his throat and haul him upright. “Say that again,” I snarl into his mask. “Go ahead. Give me another reason to end you.”

He spits blood at me. “You can’t protect her forever.”

“I will gladly die protecting her from monsters like you.”

I slam him into the nearest tree, the bark splintering behind his skull. His knife clatters to the ground. I press my forearm into his windpipe until his eyes bulge. Then I let him drop, gasping, clutching at the dirt.

“I want you alive,” I tell him, voice low, steady. “Alive so I can break you slow. Alive so you can feel every bone I take from you.”

His head jerks up, eyes swimming with pain and hate. “Then what?” he rasps.

“Then?” I crouch, pick up his knife, and let the tip rest under his chin. “Then I end you. Inch by inch. And I make sure the last thing you think about before you die is how it felt when you saw me coming.”