The Villains Must Win-Chapter 190: Lyander Wolfhart 40

Lyander rocked into her a few more times, riding out every last wave of pleasure until his body gave in completely.

When the final pulse left him, he groaned—loud, raw, and full of frustration.

"Fuck," he growled, then rolled off Liora, collapsing onto his back beside her. His chest rose and fell rapidly, muscles twitching from exertion, sweat glistening on his skin in the fading light.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. The cool night air brushed against their heated bodies, grounding them in the reality they’d just created.

Liora sat up slowly, her thighs still trembling. Her gaze landed on Lyander’s discarded shirt nearby—he’d said he was going to throw it away anyway.

Without asking, she grabbed it, using the soft, worn fabric to gently wipe herself clean. His release had coated her belly and breasts, warm and sticky—a visible reminder of what they’d done.

She needed to erase all evidence. Because this couldn’t be discovered.

Not now. Not when the war with Rhett’s forces loomed so close.

No scent, no marks, no lingering traces.

Their relationship—whatever this was—had to remain a secret. Especially with how exposed Lyander had become.

A bond with a human, a weak one in the eyes of his people, would be seen as a liability. Some would question his strength, others would judge his loyalty. And there were those who would do far worse—who might try to use her to get to him.

Right now, Lyander couldn’t afford to have any weaknesses. He was Henry’s right hand, the chosen enforcer of the Alpha’s will. A symbol of strength. The face of the war.

And Liora . . . she was a complication he couldn’t afford.

And she knew that.

As she finished wiping herself clean, she glanced over at him. He still hadn’t moved. His eyes remained shut, brows slightly furrowed. One hand rested over his softening length, which still twitched faintly, releasing the last remnants of his release. The other was splayed across his chest, rising and falling as his breath began to steady.

She could already tell what was coming.

That silence—thick, tense, lingering—wasn’t peace.

It was the calm before the storm.

There was no doubt in her mind that once he caught his breath, once he could move again . . . she was going to get an earful.

She was in so much trouble.

Lyander rolled his eyes beneath his closed lids, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs like chains. The aftershocks of their encounter still echoed through his body, but it wasn’t just his muscles that ached—it was something deeper. Something clawing at the core of him.

Liora’s scent was still heavy in the air, mingling with his own. Sweet. Human. Hers. And underneath it, laced into the warmth of her skin and the faint tremble of her breath, was fear.

She was afraid.

Not of what they’d done, but of him.

He could smell it, sharp and bitter like burnt sugar, seeping through her guilt. She hadn’t meant to go this far. He knew that. She hadn’t meant to challenge him—not really.

But she had. She’d ignored his warnings, danced on the edge of danger, and when the moment had come, she hadn’t backed down.

He’d wanted to punish her for it. Still did. But not tonight.

Tonight, they had both been through enough.

Lyander let out a slow, controlled breath, trying to center himself, but even now, his thoughts were scattered and chaotic. He’d been furious—rage boiling just beneath the surface. Not just at her, but at himself.

She hadn’t even needed to do much. A few looks. A few soft sounds. That pleading expression she wore like a second skin. She didn’t realize the power she held over him. Or maybe she did.

And that only enraged him more.

Because he, the commander of Henry’s right hand, the enforcer of the Alpha’s will, the wolf who tore through enemies without mercy—couldn’t control himself around her.

The beast inside him, that ever-present snarl in the back of his mind, had been louder than usual tonight. Hungrier. Wilder. And too damn close to taking over.

Why couldn’t he just keep his cock to himself?

It had taken every ounce of strength Lyander had to stop himself from going further. From claiming her. Marking her. Mating her.

His hand clenched into a fist on the dirt beside him.

He could still feel how wet she’d been—how perfectly her body had responded to him. It would’ve taken just one more push. One more second.

His jaw tightened. That wasn’t a path he could afford to walk. Not now. Not when their world teetered on the edge of war.

Not when being with her put a target on her back.

If anyone knew . . . if Rhett’s spies even suspected—she’d be used against him in a heartbeat. They wouldn’t hesitate. They wouldn’t show mercy.

And his people?

They wouldn’t understand. A human was a liability, a weakness. For someone like Lyander to be entangled with one, let alone protective of her?

It would be seen as betrayal.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing the thought away.

Beside him, Liora was silent. But her eyes were wide, watching him like a deer that had barely escaped a predator’s jaws.

Her skin still glowed faintly in the moonlight, and despite the guilt written across her face, she looked beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Lyander’s heart softened. The anger, the frustration, the tangled mess of emotion that had been coiling tight in his chest for hours began to loosen.

He didn’t want her scared and fear him.

"Come here," he said quietly, his voice rough but gentle.

She blinked, caught off guard, before slowly crawling over to him. He opened his arm, and she curled into his side without protest, her head resting against his chest. His body reacted instantly, molding to her warmth, soaking in her closeness like a balm.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the other hand rising to thread through his own hair in a gesture of weariness.

"Don’t do that again," he murmured into the top of her head. "It’s too dangerous. You could have died if I’d marked you. Or worse . . ."

He trailed off.

But they both knew what that "worse" was.

Liora didn’t need it spelled out. A human body wasn’t built to handle a full mating with a wolf like him—especially one as strong, as volatile, as dominant as he was.

She’d heard the stories. The warnings. It wasn’t romantic; it was brutal, physical, intense. Without proper preparation, without the mate bond, it could break her apart.

Literally.

Her fingers curled around a fold of his shirt. "Sorry," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "I just got . . . carried away."

She’d almost said "horny." He could tell. It almost made him laugh, if he wasn’t still on edge.

"Don’t let it happen again," he said sternly, though his grip on her tightened protectively. "I can’t afford to risk it. Not now. Not when everything’s on the line. Because you’re . . ."

He hesitated.

Liora looked up at him, brows rising. "Because I’m human, right? Because I’m weak?" she said briskly, almost pouting.

Lyander groaned and sat up slightly, pulling her between his legs so she faced him. He cupped her cheeks with both hands, thumbs brushing over her skin.

"That’s not what I meant," he said, voice low. "Not entirely. And you’re not weak . . . you’re just . . . special. "

That’s one kind word to say that she’s weak.

He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. Even now, after everything, she still smelled good. Her scent wrapped around him like a net, sweet and warm, tinged with arousal and sweat, but still undeniably hers.

"I mean it’s because I care about you," he murmured. "And caring about someone makes them a target. You think I don’t know how many enemies I’ve made? You think Rhett wouldn’t love to get his claws in you just to break me?"

Her lips parted slightly, a protest forming, but he silenced her with a gentle press of his forehead against hers.

"I can’t have a weakness, Liora. Not right now. Not when Henry’s relying on me. Not when everyone’s watching."

"And what am I supposed to do?" she asked quietly, voice tight. "Pretend this never happened? Pretend I don’t feel anything?"

His jaw clenched again, but softer this time.

"No," he admitted. "But we keep it hidden. Until it’s safe. Until I can protect you properly. I don’t care how strong you think you are. You’re human, and this world—my world—is brutal. Let’s wait until this war is all over."

Liora exhaled shakily, her eyes dropping to his chest. She placed her hand over his heart. "Alright. So don’t die."

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he placed a kiss on her forehead and rested his chin atop her head, holding her in silence.

The wind rustled through the trees around them. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, and the forest stirred. War hadn’t gone away. The threat hadn’t vanished just because they found a moment of stolen peace.

But here, for now, they were still.

Together.

"I don’t deserve you," Lyander said after a long while. "And you deserve more than stolen moments like this."

"I don’t want more," she replied. "I want you."

His arms tightened around her.

Maybe one day, they could have that. Maybe one day, he could let the beast out without fearing for her life.

Maybe he could let himself love her the way he wanted to.

But not yet.

Not while enemies lurked in every shadow.

Not while the war still loomed.

And certainly not while the world still saw her as nothing more than a weakness he couldn’t afford.

So for now, they held each other. Quietly. Fiercely. Knowing the world would come crashing back down on them soon enough.

But not yet.

Not tonight.

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