Page 71 of Creeping Lily
“Lily.”
This time, my name is an order. Sharp. Pulling me out of my head like a hook in my ribs.
I meet his gaze, and it’s like staring into a locked room. I’ll never see all of him unless he decides to open the door.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice rough. “And what do you want?”
“So fucking beautiful… and you’re all mine.”
The words are a low growl against my ear, his voice rough silk, warm breath sliding over my skin like it belongs there. The heat of it makes goosebumps rise down my arms. My heart kicksagainst my ribs, fast and frantic, as if it already knows I’m standing in dangerous territory. I’m drowning in quicksand, and the sensation feels like a luxury.
I turn toward him, slow, like I’m afraid the moment will vanish if I move too fast. The dim light spills across his mask, catching the sharp edges of his cheekbones and the cut of his jaw, but it’s his eyes that hold me still—storm-dark, locked on me with a hunger I can’t mistake and something else beneath it. Restraint. Like he’s one wrong breath away from breaking.
His knuckles skim my cheek, slow enough that I can feel every ridge of bone, every callus earned from a life I don’t understand. The touch is gentle, but there’s power behind it, the kind that makes my pulse throb in my throat. The air between us feels alive, charged with something that smells like danger and sandalwood, and it’s thick enough to drown in.
“Lily.” My name leaves his mouth like it’s his favorite word, slow and husky, as if he’s tasting it. I’ve heard my name a thousand times, but never like this. Never carved from wicked desire.
I search his gaze for answers. For something that tells me why it feels like I’ve known him forever when I don’t even know who he is. His stare catches me, pins me. There’s recognition there, something that stirs a part of me I’ve kept buried deep, a part that whispers you’ve met him before.
Everything else falls away—the dorm walls, the night beyond the window, the rest of the world. There’s only the space between us, heavy with the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. His fingertips trace my jaw and my whole body lights up in response, nerves sparking like they’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice low but edged with steel. It’s not a question. It’s not even a request. It’s a claim, threaded with something that feels like both promise and threat. My stomach flips, because in those two words I hear the weight of somethingI can’t name—a past I don’t remember and a future I’m not sure I’ll survive.
I lean toward him without meaning to, drawn into his orbit like he’s gravity itself. His breath brushes my neck, hot and close, smelling faintly of mint and smoke. The heat of his chest radiates into me, closing the space between our bodies until I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t step back from.
In him, I feel safety and danger wrapped together so tightly I can’t separate them. My body aches to trust him, but my mind screams to run. And still… I don’t move.
“Lily,” he says again.
This time it’s not just my name—it’s a confession. A truth he’s not ready to explain. It slips into me, winding itself deep into the marrow of my bones, where I know it will stay indefinitely.
His hand slides from my cheek, curling around the back of my neck, not hard enough to hurt but with a weight that says I’m not going anywhere until he’s ready to let me. His thumb presses just beneath my ear, tilting my head back so he can take me in—studying me like he’s cataloguing every reaction, every flicker of breath.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, though I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn it—stand still? Breathe? Let him touch me like I’m his?
The heat from his body seeps into mine, a slow, dangerous warmth. I think he might close the gap, kiss me again, or crush the little space left between us until there’s nothing else. Instead, he leans in, the edge of his mask grazing my temple. The faint scrape against my skin makes my stomach twist.
“You don’t see it yet,” he says, voice so low the words are almost felt rather than heard. “But you will.”
A shiver slides down my spine, cold in contrast to the heat radiating from him.
“You’re standing in the middle of a fire, Lily,” he murmurs, the words sinking into me like embers searing through thin fabric. His breath is hot against my ear—thick, humid heat that smells faintly of smoke and leather—and it ghosts over the fine hairs at my nape until my skin prickles. “And I’m the only one who knows where the edges are.”
The syllables drag slow, each one a deliberate brand. I swear I canfeelthem, molten and heavy, burning themselves into my pulse. My stomach tightens, my throat dries, and it’s suddenly hard to tell whether the heat flooding me is fear, arousal, or both twisted together.
My pulse hammers, loud enough that I swear he can hear it. He hums, low and satisfied, like my reaction is exactly what he wanted.
Then he steps back—not far, but enough for the air between us to cool. He reaches into his pocket, the faint rattle of metal filling the silence, and I realize what he’s about to do. His fingers find the cuffs at my wrists, unlocking them with slow, deliberate clicks.
The cold bite of steel falls away, replaced by a sudden, aching emptiness. My arms are mine again, but I don’t move them—not while the warmth of his touch still lingers there.
“Stay away from them,” he says, each word spaced like he’s nailing it into my skull. “The Walkers. Their friends. Their shadows.Stay. Away.”
His tone makes it clear—this isn’t a suggestion.
Before I can speak, he’s already at the door. He unlocks the chain with quiet precision, the kind of ease that only comes from slipping in and out of places unnoticed.
Just before stepping out, he pauses. Doesn’t turn, doesn’t give me the mercy of his eyes—just lets his final words curl back toward me like smoke finding its way under a door.
