Page 104 of Creeping Lily
“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 slamof 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.
