The Villains Must Win-Chapter 172: Lyander Wolfhart 22

"She’s a liability," Lyander snapped. "She doesn’t belong on the road. Or in another pack’s territory. I don’t need to be worrying about someone who might trip over a branch and give us away."

Liora scoffed and stepped toward him. "Please. You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are."

He turned, eyes narrowing. "I’m not here to be charming."

"No," she said smoothly, "but that’s exactly why you need me."

Lyander bristled, but Henry cut in before he could argue.

"She’s your balance," he said firmly. "Your blade is sharp, but even the sharpest edge breaks without control. Liora is clever, observant, and yes—unexpectedly persuasive. People will listen to her when they won’t to you. She softens what you make hard."

"Quite the opposite if you know what I mean . . ." his wolf snickered in his mind.

"Shut it you!" he hissed back.

Lyander was silent for a long moment. Then he looked at Liora, really looked at her—at the tilt of her chin, the defiance in her posture, the way she refused to flinch beneath his gaze.

"And what if I don’t feel like playing babysitter?" he said flatly.

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," Liora replied with a roll of her eyes. "If anything, I’ll be keeping you from burning every bridge along the way. You’re the one who needs supervision."

The tension snapped with that—just enough. Henry smiled slightly.

"Then it’s settled," he said. "You leave at dawn." freewebnøvel.com

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The journey began in silence.

Lyander led the way, his strides long and determined. Liora kept pace behind him, wolves from the Bloodhowl guard flanking their sides. The woods were damp with morning fog, and each breath hung in the air like smoke.

Neither of them spoke at first, tension crackling like the frost beneath their boots.

Lyander had expected to hate every second of this journey.

But Liora surprised him.

She didn’t complain. She didn’t slow down. When they crossed through freezing rivers and slept under wind-blasted cliffs, she bore it all without a word of protest.

And at night, when the campfires burned low, he’d often find her speaking softly with the guards—learning about their families, their fears, their loyalties. She was winning them over, one by one.

It irritated him. And intrigued him.

She wasn’t just a sharp tongue and pretty eyes. She was smart. Strategic.

And sometimes—just sometimes—he caught her watching him. Not with fear. Not even with awe. But with curiosity. Like she was trying to piece together a puzzle no one else had dared attempt.

One night, several days into their journey, a storm rolled in and forced them to shelter in a cave off the mountain pass. As the rain pounded outside and the fire cast long shadows across the walls, Lyander sat sharpening his blade while Liora leaned against a smooth rock, drying her boots.

"So," she said at last, voice casual, "do you hate me a little less yet?"

He didn’t look up. "No. You’re still suspicious and an annoyance."

She chuckled. "You’re so bad at lying. You haven’t threatened to leave me behind in four whole days. That’s practically a declaration of friendship."

He gave her a dry look. "I don’t do friendship."

"Of course you don’t." She stretched, letting out a sigh. "But maybe you do trust, a little."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, softer, she added, "And maybe I’m not a total liability after all." Of course, she wasn’t. Only the Moon Goddess knew how many times she’d secretly used her powers to keep herself from landing face-first in the mud.

He looked at her then. Really looked. Rainwater glistened in her dark hair, and the firelight turned her eyes from ash to molten. She wasn’t posturing now. There was a quiet strength in her—resilience he hadn’t expected. The kind of strength that didn’t come from claws or fangs.

"You’re not," he admitted quietly.

She blinked. "What?"

"You’re not a liability, surprisingly."

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

Outside, thunder cracked across the mountains.

Inside, something else began to stir—uncertain, unspoken, but undeniable.

Lyander didn’t want to feel anything. Not for anyone. Especially not a human girl.

But as she leaned her head back against the stone and closed her eyes with the faintest smile curling her lips, he realized something dangerous:

She was beginning to get to him.

And that terrified him more than anything Rhett could ever throw at them.

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The storm passed by morning, leaving a silver sheen over the mountains. The path ahead twisted through craggy ridges and narrow ledges slick with rain. The kind of terrain Lyander moved through like a shadow, quiet and sure.

Liora, on the other hand, had to tread carefully—her boots slipping more often than not on the slick terrain. She could have used her powers, but her mana was nearly dry, and she hadn’t had a chance to recharge. Not with Lyander watching her like a hawk. She hadn’t been back to nature in days, and without that connection, even maintaining her human form was starting to take its toll.

When her foot slid out from under her for the second time in ten minutes, she caught herself on a branch and hissed through her teeth. Lyander, ahead of her, paused without turning.

"You know," he said dryly, "this would be easier if you used the stick I gave you."

"I’m not hiking with a glorified cane," she snapped back.

"It’s a walking staff," he corrected, now turning just enough to raise an eyebrow. "Helps with balance. For people who don’t have any."

"Oh, I have balance," she said, brushing mud off her coat with as much dignity as she could manage. "Just not when the ground decides to betray me."

He didn’t laugh—Lyander never really laughed—but his mouth twitched, like he was fighting one. Then he turned and kept walking. "Suit yourself."

The wolves flanking them exchanged a look, but said nothing. They’d long stopped reacting to the bickering.

What had started as gritted teeth and clipped words had settled into a strange kind of rhythm—like arguing was their shared language, and silence was reserved for everyone else.