Page 55 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

F or 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 though every 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.

Instead, I’ve given her space.

“Should I be scared?” she asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet .

“Scared of what?”

“Are we safe here?”

“The world’s not a safe place, Lily.”

I hear her slow inhale, the way her breath catches, the subtle drop in her shoulders that feels like resignation.

“Someone told me the same thing years ago,” she murmurs.

“Yeah?” I study her, trying to read what’s behind the words.

“Yeah.”

“That someone must’ve been smart,” I say. “You should’ve listened.”

Her eyes flick to mine, holding them just long enough for me to see something there—something old and sharp. “He is…” She pauses, the correction quick and quiet. “He was. Very smart.”

The past tense lands like a stone in my gut. Was.

“Boyfriend?” I ask.

Her laugh isn’t really a laugh—it’s closer to a scoff, bitter around the edges.

“A friend.”

“Where is your friend now?”

“Gone.”

Flat. Empty. Like she’s cut the thread of the conversation herself.

The fire crackles once in the silence that follows, but it doesn’t warm the room. Not for either of us.

I lean against the rough-hewn wall of the cabin, arms crossed over my chest, and watch Lily wear a path into the warped wooden floorboards.

The air inside feels tight, heavy, as if the walls themselves are pressing closer.

Outside, the impenetrable forest surrounds us on all sides—a living wall of black trunks and shifting shadows.

It feels like it’s closing in, and judging by the way she keeps pacing, Lily feels it too.

She’s been restless ever since she mentioned her dead friend. That one sentence changed her energy entirely, like she’d ripped the bandage off a wound she’d kept hidden too long. Now she’s all agitation—short steps, fast turns, a little more edge in her voice each time she speaks.

“This is ridiculous, Titan!” Her tone spikes, sharp and cutting. She’s saying my name too often now, like she’s testing me with it. And God help me, I think I like it. “I’m going out of my mind here!”

My jaw tightens, but I don’t move. My eyes track her the way they’d follow a target—slow, steady, never losing sight. I could say something, but nothing I tell her is going to make this better. She’s going to have to ride this storm out.

Finally, I push away from the wall and close the distance between us, each step deliberate. My gaze locks on her, and I know she can feel it. It’s the kind of stare that makes most people look away. But she doesn’t.

If it weren’t for the fact that my heart starts hammering every damn time I’m close to her, I might have already locked her in the bedroom and walked out. But that heartbeat—loud, insistent—makes me do something I don’t often do. It makes me soften.

“It’s only a couple more days, Lily,” I tell her, my voice low. “Then I’ll take you home.”

Her steps falter. She tilts her head, brows pulling together in suspicion.

“What happens in two days?”

I keep my tone firm. “I need you to stop asking questions and trust me.”

Her laugh is humorless, short. “Trust you, Titan? I don’t even know you. ”

“You saw what happened at our last stop,” I remind her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“For you, maybe.” She folds her arms tight across her chest, chin tilted in defiance. “Whatever’s going on with you has nothing to do with me.” Her hands sweep the air like she can shove my world away from hers. “Don’t drag me into your troubles, okay?”

“I already told you, Lily.” My voice drops, the words sharp enough to cut. “You are the trouble.”

Her brow furrows, confusion flickering in her eyes. “You see, I don’t get that.” She closes the gap between us in two quick steps, standing so close I can feel her breath against my face. Her arms are still crossed, but the stance reads more vulnerable than aggressive.

“You keep throwing out these riddles without explanation,” she says. “If anything, your answers to my questions only raise more questions. You want me to believe I’m in danger, yet you’ve given me nothing. Nothing.”

Something shifts in her tone—vulnerability hardening into anger. It’s not something I’ve seen from her before. Lily Snow is many things, but she’s not quick to lose her temper. Until now.

Fine.

If she wants fury, she’ll get mine.

I step into her space, take both her hands in mine, and yank her closer until she’s flush against me. Her pulse kicks under my grip, but she doesn’t look away.

“It’s enough for you to know you’re in danger,” I hiss, my voice low but lethal, “and I’m your only hope at the moment.”

Then I shove her back, not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to send the message.

She freezes, her face blooming into a deep, embarrassed red. For a second, I think she might scream at me. Instead, she spins on her heel and storms toward the bathroom .

The door slams behind her with a crack that rattles the frame, leaving me alone in the cabin with the echo.

And the knowledge that every second we spend here, the danger outside gets closer.

The slam of the bathroom door echoes through the cabin, rattling the walls before dying into the low hiss of the fire.

I stay where I am, standing in the middle of the room with my hands curled into fists at my sides. My pulse is still thudding in my ears, loud enough to drown out the wind scraping against the roof.

Part of me wants to drag her back out here and make her listen. Make her understand that this isn’t a game, that the danger she’s in isn’t something she can outpace with stubbornness or wishful thinking.

But the other part—the part I can’t afford to let rule me—wants to tell her everything.

Wants to tell her who’s hunting her. Why they’re hunting her. Why I’ve been in her shadow for months before she even knew my name.

It would be so easy.

One truth, and she’d stop pacing the floor like a caged animal. She’d stop looking at me like I’m the problem. She’d understand why she can’t go home yet, why danger is her newest best friend.

But one truth leads to another. And another. And the moment I give her a crack in the wall, she’ll wedge it wide open. She’s too smart not to. And I can’t let her have all the pieces yet—not when knowing too much might get her killed faster.

She thinks I’m keeping her here out of control. She doesn’t realize I’m keeping her here out of necessity .

I glance at the bathroom door. Her shadow moves under the crack near the floor, pacing, just like she was in the main room.

I could tell her I’ve already killed for her. That I’ll do it again. That she’s not just caught in the crossfire—she’s the target.

But if I tell her that, she’ll look at me differently. And right now, I can’t have her looking at me like I’m a monster.

Even if I am.

The boards creak under my boots as I cross to the window. Outside, the forest stands dark and endless, the tree line bending under the wind. Somewhere out there, someone is waiting for us to make a mistake.

Two more days. That’s all I need. Two days, and I can get her somewhere safer. Somewhere no-one will be able to find her.

Until then, I’ll take her anger. I’ll take her questions. I’ll take her hate, if I have to.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.