The Villains Must Win-Chapter 163: Lyander Wolfhart 13

Even now, the pull was undeniable. It made his wolf restless and eager, clawing at the edges of his control. His body responded to her on instinct, heat crawling beneath his skin, hunger rising in his throat. She was beautiful in a way that wasn’t just physical—though the physical alone was enough to undo him.

He tried to keep his voice steady. "If I wanted to stop you, I would’ve done it the second you stepped outside the guest house."

"Then why didn’t you?" she asked, eyes gleaming with challenge.

Lyander exhaled slowly, the tension between them taut as a wire. "Because maybe," he said, "I wanted to see what a clever little human like you would do when no one was watching."

In short, he needed to find out whether she was sneaking off to meet someone or hiding some dirty little secret while the rest of the pack slept.

How sweet of him. Liora thought.

The air crackled between them, filled with unsaid things—desire, danger, curiosity. He didn’t trust her, not even a little, but that didn’t matter right now.

All that mattered was that she was here, bare beneath the moonlight, completely unafraid of the beast watching her from the shadows.

And the worst part?

She made him feel alive again.

Liora had barely finished wringing the water from her hair when she felt it—that thick tension prickling at the back of her neck. The way the wind stilled. The way her breath caught. She turned slowly, heart already starting to thrum.

Lyander stood there like some forest god carved from darkness and flame, leaning casually against a tree with arms folded across his broad, bare chest. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the shadows, watching her like a predator enjoying the chase long before the kill.

And yet, there was heat in them—not cruel, but burning. Controlled. Dangerous.

"You know," he said, voice a velvet rasp, "you shouldn’t tempt me."

"I’m not tempting anyone," Liora said, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "I just wanted a bath."

Lyander stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the moonlight kissing the sharp lines of his body—his toned arms, the cut of his abs, the slight twitch in his jaw as he studied her. His presence was overwhelming, raw power in human skin, but there was something else too.

A simmering tension coiled beneath his calm facade.

"But you knew I’d follow soon, right," he said, going into the waters. "You’re clever enough for that."

She instinctively took a step back, eyes narrowed. "Maybe I just don’t care anymore."

He paused behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him on her back. His breath ghosted past her ear as he leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. "Oh, you care. You’re just pretending not to."

Goosebumps scattered along her arms.

"You came out here thinking you’d go unnoticed," he said, voice low, almost amused. "But part of you wanted to see if I’d follow. And here I am."

He wasn’t entirely wrong—but she wasn’t about to admit that.

Liora turned to face him slowly, lifting her chin. "Has anyone ever told you you’re a little too full of yourself?"

He laughed—low, rough, and undeniably male. "Yes. Yes they did, and I’m here to teach you a lesson."

In a blur of motion, he was in front of her, hand shooting out to catch her wrist before she could take a step back. Not rough—never rough—but firm. His touch burned. Liora’s breath hitched.

"You think I’m all brawn, no brain?" he asked, his gaze dipping briefly to the curve of her mouth. "Then let me show you how dangerous I can be . . . without even laying a finger."

His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. The simple contact made her whole body tense. She tried to yank away, but he didn’t let her.

"Your pulse is racing," he murmured, his voice like smoke curling around her. "But you’re not afraid, are you?"

"No," she breathed, even as her heart thundered like it was trying to escape.

"Good."

He stepped in closer, the heat radiating off his body impossible to ignore. In an instant, her back met the cool surface of a rock, the rough stone pressing against her damp skin.

The cascading water from the falls rippled around her, veiling the curves of her body—though not enough to hide the soft swell of her breasts or the subtle tint of her nipples, blurred but still undeniably there beneath the shifting surface.

Lyander was so hard he was sure that she noticed it poking her, but he didn’t care. His free hand planted beside her head. He still hadn’t fully touched her, not really, but her knees felt weak. Everything inside her screamed with awareness.

"You don’t get it yet," he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers. "I’ve been patient. Civil. But I’m a wolf, Liora. My restraint has a limit."

His breath was warm on her mouth.

"You think you’re safe because I haven’t taken what I want? Or because I let you walk free around here?" His voice deepened. "The only reason you’re still breathing is because I let you."

Her breath caught.

And then—he pulled back.

Just like that.

The heat between them shattered as the cool night air rushed in to fill the space he left behind.

"Be careful," he said, voice smooth now, but laced with warning. "Next time you go wandering into the woods naked . . . I might not stop."

And with one last, lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the trees—leaving her stunned, breathless, and burning.

So . . . did she accomplish her goal? Liora wondered as she glanced around, noting that Lyander was nowhere in sight.

If the goal was to make him react—to stir something physical in him—then yes, she had succeeded. The tension, the way his eyes darkened, the sharp breath he took . . . she wasn’t imagining it. His body responded to her, that much was clear. But making him feel something? Making him love or just like her?

That was a different battle altogether. His heart was guarded—fortified by loss and hardened by time—and it wouldn’t be easy to break through. She could sense it, like a wall of stone behind those ember eyes. Getting close to him physically was one thing . . . but earning a place in his heart? That would be far more difficult.

No matter. What’s a game without hurdles, right?

Her goal remained unchanged: make sure Henry survived. And for that, she needed Lyander’s help. Not just his strength—but his loyalty. His trust.

And maybe, just maybe . . . his heart too.