The Villains Must Win-Chapter 173: Lyander Wolfhart 23

Liora followed, grumbling under her breath, but she was listening. Always listening. Watching, too.

Despite her constant refusals to accept help, she was learning how he moved—how he tested footholds with his boot before shifting weight, how he stayed just ahead but never out of reach.

There was just something about Lyander. The way he moved—effortless, controlled—muscles flexing beneath his skin with every step, could make any woman’s thoughts stray. He was every bit the male alpha that the soul inside Liora had once dreamed of.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a torso that tapered into a lean waist and long, powerful legs. Like the others, he went shirtless, and she couldn’t help but steal glances at the way his abs tightened when he moved—especially when he wasn’t looking.

No one bothered with clothes much during the journey. At any moment, they could be attacked, and shifting forms quickly took priority. Not that they had much to wear anyway; they’d packed only the essentials. The forest provided most of what they needed—and, as far as Liora was concerned, it also provided a rather enjoyable view. freewēbnoveℓ.com

By midday, they reached a steep ravine where the bridge had rotted through. Lyander didn’t hesitate. He leapt across with the kind of grace that made it look effortless.

Liora stared at the gap, then at him.

"I’m not a mountain goat," she said flatly.

He crouched on the other side, expression unreadable. "It’s only a few feet."

"A few feet of certain death."

He extended a hand. "You’ll make it."

She hesitated, pride flaring, but the drop beneath her was enough to wrestle it into submission—barely. She backed up, took a breath, then sprinted and leapt. Anyway if things got worse then she would just use her powers, and breeze and lie her way after.

Her boot caught the edge, and she would’ve fallen back—if Lyander hadn’t snatched her wrist in a heartbeat. She slammed into him with a grunt, breathless, and he didn’t so much as stagger.

"See?" he said. "Not a mountain goat. More like a panicked squirrel."

She looked up at him, her face inches from his. "You’re infuriating."

"And you’re welcome."

His grip lingered a second too long before he released her, stepping back as if he hadn’t just saved her life. Again.

Later, when they made camp, she found herself by the fire, rubbing at her sore ankle from a misstep that afternoon. She didn’t say a word, but he noticed. He always did.

Without speaking, he walked over, knelt, and offered a small jar from his satchel.

"What’s this?" she asked warily.

"Herbal salve. For the swelling."

She raised an eyebrow. "You carry that around?"

"I carry everything. Because someone refuses to pack anything useful."

"Oh, I packed snacks," she said brightly. "Want some roasted almonds?"

He didn’t dignify that with a reply.

She smirked but took the jar. Their hands brushed. She didn’t mention the way it made her stomach flip.

The journey grew harder after that.

The mountains gave way to pine forests choked with underbrush. The wind carried strange scents—wild magic, danger. They were getting close to contested territory. The Bloodhowl wolves grew tense, ears flicking at every noise.

And yet, Lyander and Liora kept arguing. Over maps, over watch shifts, over whether a trail looked safe. She had opinions on everything; he dismissed them all with irritating calm.

"Why are you always like this?" she snapped one night, after he’d refused her suggestion to take a shortcut. "You think being in charge means being a control freak?"

"I think being alive means not taking reckless advice from someone who can’t tell a game trail from a real one," he said coolly.

"It was a real one!"

"It led to a den of corpse beetles."

"One beetle!"

"It was the size of a dinner plate."

"It ran away from me!"

He gave her a flat look. "I’m not surprised."

But for all his biting remarks, he never let her fall. Not once.

He caught her when the slope gave out under her boots. Pulled her back when a tree root almost tripped her into a pit of thornvine. Tossed her over his shoulder—actually tossed her—when she refused to climb a flooded gully and nearly drowned trying to be independent.

"That’s it," he muttered, hauling her up like she weighed nothing. "I’m filing a complaint with Henry. Travel with Liora, they said. She’s clever and observant, they said."

She sputtered. "Put me down!"

He did. Gently. And then walked off with an infuriating grin.

"You’re insufferable!" she shouted after him.

"You’re welcome, again!"

The guards didn’t even flinch. One of them offered her a handkerchief.

But somewhere between the fights and the stumbles, something else began to form.

She learned he barely slept, always taking first and last watch. That he carried tiny keepsakes from his fallen brothers in his previous pack. That he knew the names of every wolf in their escort, and would die to protect them—even if he never said it aloud.

While Lyander learned Liora didn’t just talk to be heard—she listened, remembered, cared. She remembered which soldier had a sick sister and always offered him the first share of stew. She remembered his old injury and never let him walk without support when the cold made it flare.

They never spoke of those moments. But they felt them.

One evening, as dusk painted the treetops in gold, Liora paused on a hilltop, staring out across the horizon.

Lyander joined her, arms crossed. "You’re quiet."

"I’m thinking," she said softly. "About what comes next."

His gaze remained forward, but his voice was low. "Worried?"

"Yes. But not in the way I expected." She glanced at him. "I thought you were the enemy when this started."

"Me? No offense, but between the two of us, you’re the one who’s acting suspicious."

"I might not remember much, but that doesn’t make me the enemy."

"Just because you say that doesn’t make it true."

Liora fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You’re still doubting me? All this time? Meanwhile, you’re the one who’s the most suspicious here."

"Me?" he scoffed.

"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."