The Villains Must Win-Chapter 171: Lyander Wolfhart 21

"Enough!"

Lyander’s wolf tensed, jaws hovering just above Jason’s throat. For a moment, it seemed he might ignore the order.

But Henry took a step forward, his eyes locked on the snarling beast before him. "Stand down. You made your point. Don’t make me repeat myself. We need every man in this war. It wouldn’t do well if you kill him."

The fire in Lyander’s eyes flickered.

Then, slowly—grudgingly—he stepped back, fangs still bared, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes never left Jason’s crumpled form, but he backed away, allowing the defeated beta to collapse fully to the ground, gasping for breath.

The crowd exhaled as one, the threat passed—but the warning had been delivered.

Lyander didn’t just win the duel.

He dominated it—utterly, ruthlessly, and with such overwhelming force that it sent a ripple of fear through the crowd.

Every wolf present had seen Jason as their strongest fighter, a warrior born and bred for battle, second only to the previous Alpha in terms of strength. And yet, he had fallen. Quickly. Brutally. Without mercy.

The sight of Jason’s massive wolf lying on the ground, whimpering, his thick fur matted with dirt and blood, was a sobering one.

And Lyander . . . Lyander’s wolf stood tall and still, hackles raised, his glowing ember eyes fixed on his downed opponent. Saliva hung from his fangs, his chest rising and falling with slow, breaths. His presence alone radiated dominance—savage, ancient, untamed.

A challenge for the Alpha’s leadership wasn’t just about winning—it was a battle to the death. Once challenged, there was no going back. No mercy. No compromise.

Everyone knew Lyander’s wolf didn’t tolerate disrespect. And Jason had done just that—mocked Henry, challenge him, and tried to seize control of the pack.

"Stand down, Lyander."

The great wolf froze, his nostrils flaring. For a moment, it seemed he might ignore the command. But slowly, his snarl faded, his eyes dimmed from burning embers to their usual dull gold.

Then, to everyone’s astonishment, Lyander shifted.

Bones cracked and reshaped, muscles contorted, and within seconds, the wolf was gone. In his place stood the man—bare-chested, dirt-streaked, his skin glistening with sweat and blood.

A long scar stretched across his chest, a mark of battles past. His dirty grey hair was tousled, and his eyes, now human, were just as fierce.

Without a word, Lyander turned toward Henry.

And bowed.

A collective breath was released. The silence shattered like glass, replaced by cheers that thundered across the clearing. The message couldn’t have been clearer:

Lyander wasn’t here to challenge the Alpha’s position. He was here to protect it.

He could’ve taken over the pack if he’d wanted to. With Jason defeated and the rest of the pack in shock, no one could’ve stopped him. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had knelt.

That act—simple but powerful—wiped away every shred of doubt about his actions as to why he was here.

Relief flooded Liora’s chest. A smile curled her lips as she stood among the crowd, watching the cheers rise around Henry and Lyander. She could still feel the echoes of the battle in her bones, the raw tension in the air, but now it was fading—replaced with hope.

And in that moment, she realized something else.

Maybe the fight hadn’t just been about Jason’s ambitions.

Maybe this duel had been necessary all along—to settle the doubts, to silence the whispers, and to reaffirm Henry’s claim to the Alpha seat and ease Lyander into the pack. With Jason publicly defeated and humbled, no one else would dare raise a challenge.

More importantly, it sent a message far beyond their borders.

If Lyander stood beside Henry, then the Bloodhowl Pack was not led by a child—they were led by a young Alpha protected by the strongest rogue alive.

Any other pack considering withholding support, doubting Henry’s authority or their strength, would now think twice. Because with Lyander by his side, Henry wasn’t just the rightful Alpha—he was a force to be reckoned with.

And Liora, watching the unity forming before her eyes, understood that this was only the beginning.

Rhett and the Silver Moon Pack had ruled through fear, strength, and domination.

But Henry . . . Henry would unite through loyalty and vision.

And with Lyander’s claws and fangs guarding that vision, the tide might just turn.

They had a fighting chance now.

And it all started with that one bow.

=== ===

The days that followed the duel were anything but quiet.

Tension still clung to the air like smoke after fire. Though Henry’s position had been solidified by Lyander’s brutal victory over Jason, the pack knew that celebration would be short-lived.

The real threat loomed beyond their borders. The Silver Moon Pack had already begun flexing their reach, taking smaller packs under their control—by force or fear. Bloodhowl had to move, and fast.

So Henry called for Lyander and Liora.

The three of them stood within the Alpha’s den, the flicker of torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. Henry, though young, held himself with quiet authority, a trait that had only deepened since the duel.

He turned to Lyander first.

"I want you to travel west," he said, his voice steady. "The Stormfangs and Hollowclaws are watching us, waiting to see what we do. They won’t rally to my call unless we bring it to them face to face—with strength."

Lyander gave a curt nod. "Then I’ll go. Alone."

Henry arched a brow. "Not alone."

That was when he turned to Liora.

Lyander’s jaw tightened the moment he realized what Henry meant. "Absolutely not."

Henry ignored him, addressing Liora instead. "I want you to go with him. Speak for me when needed. You have a way of . . . disarming people."

Liora tilted her head, lips twitching in a knowing smile. "Disarming. I’ll take that as a compliment."

"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."