The Villains Must Win-Chapter 183: Lyander Wolfhart 33

Lyander’s arms tightened around Liora.

"You’re the only thing that’s made me feel whole in years," he said. "I couldn’t believe that I would feel like this again and to a human at that."

A breeze drifted through the trees, cool against their skin, but neither of them moved to reach for their clothes. The fire had burned down to embers, but the heat between them was enough.

"I don’t know what this means," Liora admitted softly. "Tomorrow will still be complicated."

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth—not yet. Not about his origins. Not about what his very existence might mean for Henry. A part of her feared that once the truth came out, it would shatter everything they’d just begun to build.

Right now, everything felt like it was finally falling into place. After so much tension, so much pain, there was a fragile sense of peace between them—one she didn’t dare disturb.

She told herself she would tell him eventually, once the dust settled, once they both had their feet firmly on the ground. But for now . . . she needed this. They needed this. free𝑤ebnovel.com

She wasn’t even sure if a nymph and a werewolf could ever truly make it work. Their worlds were too different.

And yet, here she was—drawn to him, aching for him, holding onto the thread of something that felt so real it made her breath catch.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to last. Maybe it would all fall apart tomorrow.

But right now . . . right now, in this moment under the stars, she wasn’t going to think about the what-ifs. She would hold onto the warmth in his arms, the way his heartbeat calmed hers, and the soft ache of something dangerous blooming into something beautiful.

For tonight, that was enough.

"It always is," Lyander said. "But tonight . . . let’s just savor this moment."

She looked up at him, and he bent to kiss her forehead, slow and reverent.

They lay like that for a long time, two different race tangled in each other’s warmth, guarded by the woods and the stars.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone.

Lyander leaned down and brushed his lips gently over hers—soft, reverent, almost hesitant. It wasn’t a kiss of lust or urgency, but one filled with emotion too heavy to name.

His arms wrapped tighter around her, drawing her small frame snug against his chest as if to shield her from the world, as if by holding her close enough, he could keep reality at bay.

Her lips parted for him without thought, and the kiss deepened slightly—still slow, still careful, like they were both memorizing the shape of something new. Something fragile. Something sacred.

The subtle scent of her arousal teased his senses, delicate but impossible to ignore. It ghosted through the air, brushing against his heightened awareness like silk against skin.

His stomach tightened, a low ache unfurling deep within him, and he had to press his jaw together to hold back the primal instinct rising in his blood. His balls tightened with the weight of want, but he didn’t let the moment tip into something hungrier.

He just took her virginity, and she must still be aching.

This kiss wasn’t about that—not yet. He wanted her to feel how much she meant to him, how deeply she was already woven into his presence. He wanted her to know that this wasn’t just physical. It was more. So much more.

His wolf, however, had other ideas.

In the back of his mind, the beast stirred restlessly, no longer content with mere touches or shared glances.

Vivid images pulsed through Lyander’s mind—scenes painted with raw tenderness and carnal devotion. His wolf wanted to soothe her in a way only they could. He imagined worshipping every inch of her, unhurriedly, relentlessly, until her body knew his by instinct alone.

Until she cried out his name in pleasure again and again—until there was no part of her untouched, unmarked, unconquered by him.

Lyander swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Gods, he wanted it too. Every vision his wolf offered was tempting, real, intoxicating. But Liora wasn’t ready him.

So, with reluctance simmering like embers under his skin, Lyander slowly broke the kiss.

His wolf growled in protest in the back of his mind, unhappy with the separation. The beast wanted more—wanted to claim, to mark, to bind.

But Lyander stayed firm, breathing in slowly to calm them both.

She rested her forehead against his chest, her breath soft and warm through the fabric of his shirt. Neither of them moved for a while, both caught in the weight of what had passed between them.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, Liora spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"Not yet," he murmured. "But you should."

He felt her hesitate, the question forming in her throat before she dared to let it out.

"Lyander . . . is it alright if . . . if I see your wolf?"

He looked down, surprised. She was nervous—he could see it in the way her fingers curled into the hem of his sleeve—but curious too. Brave.

And her voice, though soft, carried a weight of trust that struck him in the chest.

"F—fuck, yes." The words barely left his wolf’s mouth before he surged to the surface, ripping through his composure with raw, unfiltered force.

The calmness he’d struggled to maintain vanished in an instant. His body stiffened as the beast within growled its approval, claws of desire scraping against the walls of his restraint.

The breath whooshed from his lungs. Lyander staggered, grunting as he clutched his sides, caught in the throes of a brutal internal struggle.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak—could barely even think—as the sensation of impending transformation thundered through him. He clenched his jaw and fought to hold the shift at bay, his breaths ragged.

"Liora—" he rasped, voice low and uneven, "listen to me . . . I’m going to try to keep control of him, but . . ."

He trailed off, jaw twitching. Another surge of growls echoed in his head, loud and unrelenting, like a storm clawing at the inside of his skull. His wolf was done being patient.

"But . . . what?" Liora asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

There was no delicate way to put it.

"But he wants you," Lyander admitted, voice hoarse, raw. "Every last inch of you."

He looked up to see her eyes widen, lips parting slightly in surprise. The truth hung heavy between them, and a second later, her scent changed—sweet, heady, undeniable. Desire, pure and sharp, filled the air.

Lyander groaned and tilted his head back. "Gods, Liora . . . you’re killing me."

She blinked, her voice soft and uncertain. "I’m . . . I’m not his mate. Is that . . . normal?"

"I don’t know," he said honestly, clenching his fists. "But right now, he wants you like you are. No claiming. No bond. Just . . . you."

Liora hesitated, and then gave a small nod. "Then . . . okay."

Lyander’s heart slammed against his ribs. She didn’t understand—didn’t fully grasp what she’d just agreed to.

His wolf was wild, passionate, and unpredictable. And Liora . . . she was only human, she was still so new to all of this.

"You’re not physically ready for him," he warned, voice strained. "I’ll do everything I can to hold him back—but if he gets too close, you have to resist. You have to tell him no. Are you sure about this?"

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and her wide, uncertain eyes met his. For a heartbeat, she didn’t say anything.

Then, she nodded. "Alright."

Lyander muttered a curse under his breath. That one word sealed it.

"Okay," he said, forcing himself to move. He pushed to his feet, barely upright for a second before the transformation overtook him.

Bones shifted. Muscles stretched. His skin rippled as the wolf emerged—tall, powerful, and majestic in form. Grey, bristled fur shimmered under the moonlight, and golden eyes burned with unmistakable intensity.

The wolf gave a pleased rumble, then shook out his coat in a fluid motion, tail swaying slightly as he turned toward her, basking in her gaze.

He was showing off. Preening, even.

Liora giggled softly, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. She stood up, brushing dirt from her skirt, and then reached toward him with small, eager hands.

Her fingers sank into his fur, slow and reverent, trailing along the curve of his neck. Lyander’s wolf stilled, almost purring beneath her touch. He leaned into it, eyes half-lidded, completely content to let her pet and explore him.

She’s touching me. She’s not afraid. She likes us.

Lyander, still within, tried to warn him not to get too bold—not to follow through on the more . . . creative greetings he’d mentally prepared. But the wolf, of course, didn’t listen.

He padded closer and without hesitation licked her face in welcome, a long, wet swipe from jaw to cheek.

"Hey!" Liora gasped with a laugh, scrunching her face as she wiped her cheek. "That was uncalled for!"

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