Page 68 of Creeping Lily
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 Iwon’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 jawgrind. 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.
