The Villains Must Win-Chapter 157: Lyander Wolfhart 7

Lyander stopped behind Liora, his voice just a breath behind her ear. "Is your message to Henry really that important?"

Liora turned to face him, her big ashen eyes meeting his. This close, he could see the fear in them, but there was no trembling. No weakness. Just iron wrapped in silk.

"I know my name and my memory doesn’t matter," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "My mission is my identity. Whatever I was before . . . it’s irrelevant. All that matters is that I get to Henry and tell him an urgent message. After that . . ." She exhaled. "You can kill me if you must. I won’t fight it."

Kill her?

His wolf bristled.

"You’re not going to kill her," the beast grumbled inside his head. "I like her. Pretty voice. Pretty face. Pretty everything."

Lyander ignored him. Barely.

He stared down at Liora, taking in the curve of her jaw, the wild defiance in her stance, the stubbornness in her tone. She was trembling slightly—but still standing her ground.

Something about that shattered whatever assumptions he’d been clinging to.

"Tell me one thing," he said, stepping forward, closing the space between them until her breath hitched and her back gently brushed against the bark of a tree. "If your mission is so important . . . what if I don’t let you go?"

Her eyes narrowed. She hadn’t expected Lyander to be this stubborn. Understandable, maybe—she was extremely suspicious. But still, she’d been betting on her allure to chip away at his defenses, to coax out the primal, manly side of him that most creatures couldn’t resist.

Unfortunately, Lyander wasn’t like most. He was too cautious. Too sharp. His wolf might have been eager, but the man—he had a leash on it, tight and controlled.

She clenched her jaw. Damn it.

There was no other way, was there?

If she didn’t tell him something—anything—he might kill her. And that would be game over. Mission failed. Straight back to the C-Rank worlds, and that humiliation and taint to her record was worse than death.

But the bigger risk? If she did tell him, and his allegiance wasn’t what she hoped . . . he still might kill her nonetheless. Either way, the odds were stacked, and she was running out of time to bluff her way out.

Her fingers curled at her sides.

Checkmate was closing in.

"Henry will die if I don’t deliver this message," Liora said, her voice steady despite the chaos surging inside her.

This was it. The gamble. The final card she could play.

Everything now hinged on Lyander’s reaction. Whether he believed her or not—whether he turned into an ally or an enemy—depended entirely on this moment.

"A year from now," she continued, locking eyes with him, "the Silver Moon Pack, led by Alpha Rhett, will march into this territory. They’ll slaughter Henry’s people. He’ll survive, but his pack will be annihilated. And in his grief and desperation, he’ll make a terrible mistake—he’ll pledge allegiance to a demon. That pact will twist him, body and soul, into the first-ever Lycanthrope. It’ll trigger chaos across the world."

The words echoed in the space between them, heavy and terrifying.

Lyander stared at her without blinking, his eyes sharp and unreadable. He was assessing her—every twitch of her expression, every breath, every heartbeat.

But he felt it . . . he wasn’t sensing a lie.

His voice was low, skeptical but not mocking. "And where exactly did you get that kind of information? You said you’re human so you definitely don’t have powers. Unless . . ." He stepped closer, gaze narrowing. "Unless you were born a seer. Or maybe the goddess herself handed you that vision? Lost, memory wiped, stumbling into the territory of wolves with just a mission to guide you. Am I painting the full picture here?"

Liora blinked. He’d guessed her fake plot, nearly all of it. She wanted to applaud, genuinely impressed—though she masked it with a tight nod. "Maybe that’s what happened. I don’t know. But I do know we have to warn Henry."

Lyander didn’t answer right away. Her features were howling—she wasn’t lying, but something still didn’t add up. The pieces didn’t quite fit, and the whole picture was too convenient. But if what she said was true . . . if there was even a sliver of a chance Henry’s future was at stake . . .

He couldn’t kill her. Not yet.

"Alright," he said finally, eyes trained on her. "I’ll believe you . . . for now." He extended a hand. "My name’s Lyander."

Liora hesitated. Then placed her hand in his. "L-Liora."

"Funny," Lyander murmured, not letting go just yet, "how you forgot everything else but your name . . . and your mission."

She looked away. "I just want to reach Henry. As fast as possible."

She turned and started walking, taking the lead without another word. Lyander’s eyes followed her. His wolf growled softly in approval as her hips swayed with each step.

Not helping, Lyander grunted internally.

He didn’t trust her. She might’ve stirred something inside his wolf he thought long dead, a flicker of heat and interest after what happened with their mate . . . but that didn’t mean she was safe.

She was dangerous. He could feel it in his bones. But she might also be the key—Henry’s key. If she truly was connected to the boy’s future, keeping her close wasn’t just smart . . . it was necessary.

Liora, on the other hand, exhaled quietly. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath until Lyander agreed to help. He could’ve killed her the second she mentioned Henry’s name.

But he hadn’t.

That means something, she thought.

At least for now . . . she’d won this round.

But Liora knew—deep in her bones—that one wrong move could cost her everything. Lyander wasn’t some tame wolf she could easily charm. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and far too clever to fall for obvious tricks. If she slipped up, even once, he wouldn’t hesitate to rip her apart.

The thought sent a chill down her spine . . . but also a thrill.

There was something about walking this razor’s edge, about playing with fire that could burn her alive, that sent her pulse racing. The risk, the danger—it scared her. But it also excited her in ways she didn’t want to admit.

She’d danced with death before, played games in realms far crueler than this one. And every time, she’d come out on top.

This world—this man—was just another challenge. Another game.

And Liora never lost.

. . . Alright—except that one time with Han Feng . . . and that disastrous run in Elden Ring.

She still had nightmares about that boss fight.