The Villains Must Win-Chapter 158: Lyander Wolfhart 8

The moment Liora stepped into the heart of the packhouse, a strange silence fell over the air—as if even the wolves outside held their breath.

It wasn’t what she expected.

No rustic lodge or bare-bones structure, but a massive stone estate built into the mountain itself. Grand arches, carved murals of wolves in mid-hunt, thick oak doors reinforced with iron.

Everything about it screamed strength, tradition, and power. The hallway stretched long and shadowed, lit by flickering torches instead of electricity. A strange choice for a modern Alpha, but one that made sense the more she walked deeper.

And then, at the end of the corridor in one of the rooms—he was there.

Henry.

The Alpha of the Bloodhowl Pack.

He shouldn’t have been. Not yet.

He sat near the hearth, a small figure dwarfed by the ancient stone walls of the packhouse, legs swinging just slightly from the edge of a leather chair too large for him.

A training sword—wooden, scuffed, and bloodstained—rested against his knees. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat from drills that should’ve been a game, not preparation for death. His shirt clung to his back, torn at the shoulder. The flames crackled, dancing in his wide, golden eyes.

Liora froze in the doorway. She hadn’t expected this.

She knew he was a child. But was still surprised. The title had fallen on him too early, too cruelly. She had braced herself. Thought she was prepared.

But nothing could have prepared her for seeing him.

He sat alone in a high-backed chair, dwarfed by the size of it, back straight and hands folded in a practiced calm that didn’t belong to someone his age. His face still held the soft roundness of boyhood—freckles dusting his nose, a fresh scrape on his chin that hadn’t fully healed. But his eyes . . .

His eyes were all wrong.

Pale gold. Firm. Steady. Unblinking. Too much weight behind them. Too much responsibility on his small shoulders.

He looked at her like a man thrice his age would. Like someone who’d already learned that trust was dangerous and survival didn’t allow for kindness.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Not hostile. Not scared. Just . . . tired.

Liora’s heart cracked in half.

She could feel Lyander standing behind her, his presence alert, but even he stayed quiet. Letting her step forward alone.

"My name is Liora," she said gently. "I came to speak with you. Alone."

Henry looked to Lyander. A silent exchange passed between them. Then, with a short nod, Lyander stepped away into the hall, leaving them in the firelit room.

Liora had been right—there was something between Lyander and Henry. Something unspoken, but unmistakably there. It wasn’t hostile. If anything, it felt . . . protective.

Familiar. Maybe Lyander had tried to save Henry that day—maybe he was supposed to protect him when Rhett attacked. But something had gone wrong. Maybe he arrived too late. Maybe fate simply didn’t give him the chance.

Liora didn’t know the full story yet, but she would. Eventually. She wasn’t in a hurry. Some truths had to be earned.

Henry rose. He was so small—his head barely reached her chest. But he moved with careful steps, as if every step had been practiced. As if even standing wrong might be seen as weakness.

He led her to a side chamber, its stone walls lined with old books, dusty weapons, and the heavy scent of cedar and iron. He didn’t sit. Didn’t offer her a seat. He simply turned to face her and said—

"I don’t like liars."

Liora swallowed. "I’m not a liar."

"I didn’t say you were." His voice was calm. Flat. "But most people who come to me want something."

She blinked. Gods. What kind of life had this boy lived to speak like that?

"I don’t want anything from you," she said softly. "Only to warn you."

He watched her, gaze steady. Waiting.

"A year from now," she said, "Alpha Rhett of the Silver Moon Pack will come here to wage war." ƒreewebɳovel.com

No reaction.

"He’ll destroy everything—your warriors, your packhouse, your people. You’ll survive . . . but you’ll lose too much."

His hand twitched at his side. A flicker of emotion, then gone.

"I’ve seen what you become if you’re not warned. If you don’t prepare. I came to stop that."

He tilted his head, studying her. "What do I become?"

Her throat tightened. "Something you were never meant to be. A creature born of grief and rage. A legend twisted into a curse."

His brows lowered. "A monster?"

She hesitated. "You become . . . the first Lycanthrope."

Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.

And then, he gave the softest, saddest laugh she’d ever heard. "Sounds like a story my tutors would’ve made up to scare me into eating vegetables."

"It’s real," she said. "And I don’t blame you for it. After what happens—what you lose—I don’t think anyone would."

He turned away from her, facing the window, the firelight haloing around his silhouette. Just a boy. A boy with too many ghosts.

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

"I don’t know. I woke up in the woods. No memory. Just your name. Just this warning echoing in my bones."

He was quiet for a long time.

Henry didn’t trust her. That much was clear. But he was smart—smart enough to know that even if her arrival felt too convenient, too strange, it would be foolish to turn her away without learning more. So he chose caution.

"I don’t trust you," Henry said bluntly, his gaze fixed on her like he was trying to see beneath her skin. "But it’d be stupid not to be cautious. If there’s even a chance you’re telling the truth . . ." He let the sentence trail off, lips pressing into a hard line. "Then ignoring you could get people killed."

Liora breathed easy. "Thank you.

"What will you be doing next?"

Liora blinked couldn’t say anything, her face drawing a blank. "I . . ."

"You can stay here," he said at last, his voice low and careful. "Just for a few days. Until your memory comes back."

Liora blinked, caught off guard. "I . . . thank you."

"But don’t get too comfortable," he added. "You’re only human. You’re not safe out there—and you’re not exactly safe in here, either."

She opened her mouth, then paused, unsure how to respond. But deep down, she understood. He wasn’t keeping her here out of kindness. The kid was cautious—too cautious, just like Lyander. He probably wanted her close to keep an eye on her. Like the saying went: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.