The Villains Must Win
Chapter 194: Lyander Wolfhart 44

Chapter 194: Lyander Wolfhart 44

Liora floated backward in shock, her essence rippling through the water like a stone dropped into a pond. The lagoon itself seemed to respond, tiny pulses of light dancing across its surface. Her voice, ethereal and light in this form, sounded more like a soft bell than anything human.

She struggled to reorient herself, trying to remember what had happened after the spell. The mob. The accusations. The hunger in their eyes.

"How . . . ?" she began.

"You collapsed after healing Henry. Burned through everything you had," Lyander said, his gaze not leaving hers. "Then you turned into this . . . thing. Ball of light. The shamans lost their minds. Some of them wanted to trap you. Others thought you’d died."

She hovered closer, still shimmering, still unsure.

"But you didn’t let them," she guessed.

He smirked faintly, a glimmer of amusement behind his tired eyes. "Of course not. I carried you out myself."

"You?" she said, a mix of disbelief and warmth in her voice. "Carried me?"

He raised a brow. "What, you think I’d just let them feed you to the wolves?"

"Well . . . yes," she admitted, chuckling weakly. "After I kept everything from you."

Lyander let out a low growl—not of menace, but of exasperation, as though he were scolding a stubborn cub. "You really are a pain," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "But I guess I already knew you were hiding something. So I wasn’t all that surprised. I just didn’t expect you to be a nymph."

Liora beamed despite still hovering in her glowing energy form and without a human body. "Glad to hear you’re not going to eat me or cast me aside."

He snorted, amused despite himself. "You’re lucky I’m not like the others."

Then his expression turned more serious, his eyes narrowing. "So . . . why are you really helping us?"

Liora hesitated, just for a breath. "Didn’t I already say?" she replied lightly. "Rhett would only bring ruin to these lands. My kind may not want to meddle in mortal affairs, but I’m not like them. I can’t just stand by and watch innocent blood spill. Someone has to do something to stop the bloodshed before it begins."

It sounded noble, even to her own ears. Almost believable. But behind the calm words and gentle tone, Liora could still feel the weight of the lie buried beneath it all.

Because the truth was far more complicated—and far darker. She hadn’t come to save the wolves. She hadn’t been sent to stop the bloodshed. No, she was here under false pretenses. Her true purpose was something she couldn’t bear to speak aloud yet, not even to herself.

She was supposed to help the villains win.

And that made Lyander’s quiet trust all the more painful.

Lyander was silent for a moment.

There was a pause. The lagoon lapped gently at the shore, whispering secrets only nature knew.

Liora slowly lowered herself further into the water until only the upper edges of her glowing form remained above the surface, her energy pulsing gently like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

"This place," she said after a moment, "it’s beautiful. Where are we?"

"Old sanctuary," Lyander said. "Long forgotten. My parents used to bring me here when I was young. Said it was sacred to the spirits. Figured it was the only place you might be able to recover without someone trying to bottle your essence."

She laughed again, softer this time. "I really should thank you."

"You should."

They sat in silence for a long while—Liora drifting gently in the lagoon, Lyander leaning against the tree with one leg stretched and the other bent, arms resting on his knees.

For once, the world didn’t feel like it was about to collapse. The chaos could wait.

Tonight, there was only moonlight, water, and the strange, unspoken bond forming between a lone werewolf and a glowing nymph who had broken every rule to save someone she barely knew.

And somehow, it felt right.

=== 🖤 ===

The days slipped by, turning into weeks, and weeks into months. The air grew heavier with each passing sunrise, thick with anticipation.

War loomed on the horizon like a storm gathering strength. Both sides were preparing—training, gathering allies, and solidifying their positions.

Lines were drawn, loyalties tested, and the once-fractured lands of wolves were now divided by belief, power, and prophecy.

Some packs were drawn to Talia, the green-eyed beauty whispered to be favored by the Moon Goddess herself.

Her calm grace and the divine aura around her made many believe she was chosen—destined to lead them to salvation. They saw in her the strength of a true Luna of all, someone who could end the chaos and restore order.

On the other side stood Liora, whose very presence defied reason. A nymph—one of the rarest beings in existence—had taken the side of wolves.

To many, her arrival was a sign from the natural world itself, a message from the spirits of the forest. If nature had sent Liora to Henry’s pack, then surely it meant this was the side destined to bring balance.

Her presence alone was enough to convince hesitant packs to pledge their loyalty to Henry’s cause.

Both women held powerful influence, and both were determined to sway the outcome of the war.

Allies were courted, promises made in whispers under the moon, and entire packs shifted allegiance in a single night.

Talia possessed a healing gift that surpassed even the elders of old. Her touch could close fatal wounds, restore breath to the dying, and her transformation into a majestic white wolf struck awe—and fear—into those who saw her. She was strength, wrapped in divinity, and every step she took echoed with power.

Liora, though her healing abilities did not match Talia’s, was no less formidable. She could summon the will of the earth itself. Trees bowed to her call, the winds shifted with her breath, and rivers changed course when she raised her hand. She was the heartbeat of the wild—nature incarnate.

Where Talia was divine, Liora was primal. Both forces were equally terrifying.

Rhett, Talia’s champion, was a powerful Alpha whose ambition knew no bounds. His army was disciplined and ruthless, hardened by years of dominance and conquest. He was a force of aggression, a storm sweeping across the land.

But Henry’s side had Lyander—the rogue, the shadow, the untamed. Feared by many, respected by all. His past was soaked in blood and mystery, yet now he fought with purpose.

His loyalty to Henry and to Liora turned him into something even more dangerous: a warrior with something to protect.

Each side had its champions. Each side had its beliefs. The balance of power tilted back and forth like a blade caught in the wind.

Neither side could claim clear advantage, and with every passing day, the tension grew.

The war was no longer just a matter of territory or pride. It had become something far more profound—a clash of fate, will, and the forces that governed the world itself.

Soon, blood would be spilled. And when that time came, it would not be brute strength or divine favor alone that decided the victor—but the hearts of those who dared to fight.

=== 🖤 ===

"War will be upon us soon," Liora whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of the trees.

She laid her head on Lyander’s shoulder, savoring the fleeting peace that wrapped around them like a fragile cocoon. It was one of the rare quiet moments they’d shared in weeks—an interlude in the chaos.

Lyander didn’t respond right away. He only hummed low in his throat, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon, distant and clouded with thought.

Liora tilted her head slightly, watching his expression. "You’re too quiet," she said softly. "Something’s on your mind. What is it?"

He took a breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. "Henry said something earlier. About the war. He thinks this . . . this might be our last. That we might not all make it through."

Liora’s lips tightened. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the shadows stretching along the forest floor. "Well," she said quietly, "that’s war."

There was silence between them. Not awkward—just heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Then, without a word, Lyander reached for her hand. His grip was firm, grounding.

When she looked at him, she found none of his usual teasing arrogance. His eyes burned with something deeper—raw, intense, and real.

"I don’t want to regret anything," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Not one damn thing."

Her breath caught.

"Liora . . ." he continued, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I’ve fought alone for most of my life. I never thought I’d fight for something . . . for someone. But now, all I can think about is you. And if tomorrow never comes . . . if the next time I shift into my wolf is the last . . ."

He paused, pulling her hand closer to his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

"Then I want you to know I chose you. With no regrets. Liora . . . will you mate with me?"

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