The Villains Must Win-Chapter 174: Lyander Wolfhart 24

"That’s right. I don’t understand why you’re so keen on protecting Henry. Is he your long-lost brother or something? Or do you owe him a debt so great you’d throw your life away for him? Unless I know your motive in helping him, I couldn’t fully trust you."

"Trust you?" Lyander scoffed. "And why would your trust matter to me?"

"Exactly my point." She took a breath, trying to steady the frustration in her voice. "Don’t ask someone to trust you if you can’t give the same in return. I know I’m suspicious—I don’t even know who I really am. But we’re on the same side right now, aren’t we? And if we want any of this to work, we need to trust each other—at least enough not to fall apart when it matters."

Silence. Just the crackle of the fire between them, and the low murmur of the other wolves further down the camp, laughing softly at some shared joke.

Lyander didn’t move, didn’t blink. But something in his face shifted. The steel in his expression dulled, just slightly, like a sword no longer meant to cut.

Then, without a word, he stood—and to her surprise—crossed the gap to sit beside her.

Liora blinked, glancing sideways at him. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t look at her. "You’re right. About the trust. I don’t like it, but you’re right."

Her brows rose, but she kept quiet as he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. His voice, when it came, was low and distant, like he was telling someone else’s story.

"I wasn’t born into a pack. I was abandoned—left in the eastern woods when I was still too young to shift. Most pups don’t survive that. I shouldn’t have. But Henry’s parents . . . they found me. Took me in. Fed me. Protected me."

Liora’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected that.

"I hated them at first," Lyander continued. "Thought they pitied me. Thought they were weak. But . . . they weren’t. They were strong in ways I didn’t understand back then. They didn’t just raise Henry as their own. They raised me, too. No blood, no obligation. Just . . . kindness."

He stared into the fire for a long moment.

"When a rival pack came hunting for me—trying to finish what my birth pack started because I was the son of the previous Alpha and the current one didn’t want me to challenge him in the future—Henry’s father died protecting me. His mother followed soon after. And all I could do was watch."

The emotion in his voice was buried deep, but it was there—just under the surface, like the rumble before a storm.

"So, yeah," he said, quieter now. "I made a vow. My life, in return for theirs. And Henry—he’s all that’s left of them. I protect him, not because I owe him, but because I owe them. And my birthplace, I eliminated them all."

Liora exhaled slowly. "Well damn," she whispered. "Here I thought he might be your long-lost stepbrother or something."

He shot her a sideways look, a faint frown creasing his brow. "What?"

"I don’t know," she shrugged, grinning. "You’re always hovering around him, growling at anyone who breathes in his direction. I figured it was either undying loyalty or some weird brotherly trauma."

Lyander didn’t smile. Not exactly. But his expression softened, just a touch.

"Wolves don’t cheat on their mates," he said. "Not if they’ve found them. Mates are for life."

Liora arched a brow. "Unless they haven’t found them yet?"

He looked at her then—really looked. His gaze was steady, searching, and for once, not guarded. "Unless they haven’t found them yet," he echoed. Pain suddenly registered in his eyes but only for a moment. When she blinked they were gone.

"So why didn’t you just join Henry and the Bloodhowl pack after that?"

Lyander took a deep breath and sighed, his voice heavy. "After everything that happened . . . I don’t want anything to do with a pack anymore."

Liora’s gaze softened. "Is that so . . ." she murmured.

And honestly, she couldn’t blame him—not after what he’d been through. After all, it was his own home, his own pack that had tried to kill him.

A beat passed.

Liora felt her heart thud against her ribs, louder than it had any right to be. The firelight danced between them, casting shadows over his face, over the long scar that ran just below his collarbone to his chest, over the muscles that coiled like a bowstring drawn tight.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. The moment held its own gravity, like the forest had gone still just to listen.

But then—

"Lyander!" One of the guards called from beyond the trees. "Something’s moving near the ridge!"

Instantly, he was on his feet, body tense and alert. Liora stood too, heart still pounding from a very different kind of tension just seconds before.

Wolves shifted around them, moving with efficient silence. Liora stepped toward the others, but Lyander caught her wrist.

"Stay close," he said.

"What, don’t trust me to keep up?" she smirked.

He didn’t answer—just gave her a look that somehow said everything and nothing at once. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Liora followed, her senses on high alert. The air was thicker now, charged. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was from the threat lurking just beyond the ridge—or something else entirely. Something growing between them that neither of them was quite ready to name.

They found the disturbance quickly—a trail of snapped branches, the stench of something unnatural in the air. Lyander sniffed once and cursed under his breath.

"Scouts," he said. "Not ours."

"Rhett’s?"

"Maybe." He glanced at her. "Time to move."

The group packed in minutes, vanishing into the forest like mist.

Liora kept close to Lyander, matching his pace. And this time, when she stumbled slightly over a moss-slicked root, she didn’t even hesitate.

She reached out—he caught her.

Their hands lingered longer than they should have.

"I thought you weren’t going to catch me anymore," she teased, breathless.

"I changed my mind. You’re more of a liability injured."

Liora rolled her eyes playfully, a faint smile tugging at her lips—but she chose not to say anything more.

Strangely enough, Lyander found himself liking that. The way she rolled her eyes, the amused curve of her mouth—it was endearing. His wolf thought so too, which was downright bizarre.

Normally, if anyone else dared show him that kind of attitude, he’d be two seconds away from snapping their neck.

But with her?

He was . . . calm. Infuriatingly tame. Lenient, even.

It was starting to worry him—because for the first time in a long while, Lyander was beginning to wonder if he was being tamed.

"Of course not," his wolf growled in the back of his mind. "I just like her. I feel at peace when she’s near. Her scent is calming . . . and her smile—goddess, it’s disarming."

Lyander scowled inwardly.

"Yes, yes, you’re a horny mutt," he muttered under his breath, unheard by anyone else. "A wolf with a crush on a human girl."

"I don’t have a crush," his wolf argued stubbornly. "I just like her. That’s all. Period."

Lyander clenched his jaw, shutting out the conversation in his head before it spiraled any further. He didn’t have time for this—not now. Not with everything at stake.

There were still too many miles to cover, too many alliances to forge if they had any hope of standing against Rhett.

Uniting the scattered packs under one cause was already a monumental challenge. Wolves were proud, territorial, and divided—and Rhett knew exactly how to exploit that. He was rallying followers fast, appealing to the darkest instincts of those who’d been abandoned or left behind. And with each passing day, his numbers grew.

This was a race against time.

And Lyander couldn’t afford distractions. Not when their entire world hung in the balance.

The journey ahead would be long. Dangerous. And neither of them truly knew what waited at the end.

But for the first time, trust had started to take root.

And for Lyander and Liora, that was the beginning of something neither of them had dared believe in.

Not yet.

But soon.

Maybe.

=== 🖤 ===

They arrived at dusk.

The trees parted to reveal a clearing surrounded by jagged rock and thick mist, where torches burned in iron sconces along a narrow path that led to the first pack’s stronghold—The Stonefangs.

The scent of wet earth, blood, and old fire clung to the air, and the energy was immediate: hostile, tense, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

Liora instinctively stepped closer to Lyander as the Bloodhowl guards slowed behind them.

The Stonefangs were already waiting—dozens of them, muscle-bound and massive, with sharp yellow eyes gleaming from the shadows. Their armor was crude, bone and leather patched over thick hides, and not a single one of them smiled.

If anything, they looked hungry.

A low growl echoed from the left flank.

"Charming welcoming committee," Liora muttered under her breath.

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