The Villain Who Seeks Joy-Chapter 86: Cold Teeth

Lyra’s hand on my shoulder was light, but urgent.

"Armand," she whispered. "Wake up."

I was awake before she finished the name. The soldier’s habit: zero to ready in a breath.

I sat up. The tent was dark, lit only by the dying glow of the heat stones in the stove. The air was frigid; the copper wire warmth kept the floor from freezing, but the air above it bit at my nose.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Movement," she said. "Marrow is growling. Low. He hasn’t stopped."

I grabbed my boots. I didn’t bother with laces; I shoved my feet in and grabbed my coat.

Outside, the wind had dropped. The silence was worse. It was a heavy, dead silence that pressed against the ears.

The Centurion stood at the edge of our circle, its glass-plated arms locked together to form a wall against the dark. Marrow was crouched at its base, hackles raised, staring into the blackness beyond the ward-light.

Gareth and Pelham scrambled out of their tent, spears in hand. Mira followed, clutching a bag of flash-powder.

"Contact?" Gareth hissed.

"Wait," I said.

I closed my eyes. I pushed my awareness down the leash.

Marrow felt... vibration. Steps on ice. Many of them. Light, fast, and circling.

Hollow was in the air, circling high. Through the thread, I felt the sharp click-click of his attention. Shapes in the snow. Pale against pale.

"Frost-Leapers," I said quietly. "Pack hunters. They test the perimeter before they rush."

"How many?" Pelham asked. His voice was tight.

"Twelve," I said. "Maybe more."

"Aldric’s camp is two hundred yards east," Lyra said. "If they bypass us..."

"They won’t bypass," I said. "We’re the anomaly. We have the heat."

I walked to the Centurion. I placed my hand on its spine. The bone was cold as death.

"Wake," I whispered.

I pulsed the current—heavy, demanding. The construct shuddered. The glass plates shifted, locking tighter.

"Gareth, Pelham—flanks," I ordered. "Keep the spears low. They jump for the throat. Ground them. Mira, if they breach, flash them."

"Copy," Mira said. Her hands were shaking, just a little, but she opened the bag.

"Lyra, call the clock," I said. "I can’t watch the sides and the front."

"Twelve o’clock is clear," she said, calm as a clerk. "Movement at three and nine."

A shadow detached itself from the snow.

It was gaunt, white-furred, and too long. It moved like oil. Blue eyes burned with a cold hunger.

It didn’t roar. It hissed.

Then it launched.

It hit the Centurion’s shield with a sound like a hammer on ice. CRACK.

The glass held. The Chimera plating was designed to take magic; claws slid off it.

The impact shuddered through the leash into my chest. I grunted, grounding the force through the Centurion’s legs.

"Hold," I said.

Three more hit the wall. The Centurion rocked back an inch, then settled as I poured more weight into the anchor.

"Left flank!" Lyra shouted.

Two Leapers cleared the snow wall on Gareth’s side.

Gareth didn’t panic. He dropped his shoulder and drove the spear up. He caught the first one in the chest. The wood groaned but didn’t snap.

"Down!" he roared, and slammed the beast into the frozen earth.

The second one went for Pelham.

Pelham panicked for half a second—he raised the spear too high. The Leaper went under it, jaws snapping for his leg.

"Marrow!" I barked.

The hound peeled off the Centurion’s base. He hit the Leaper broadside. Bone met fur. Marrow didn’t bark; he just crunched. He pinned the thing to the ground, jaws clamping over its neck.

"Pelham, finish it!" I yelled.

Pelham drove his spear down. The Leaper stopped thrashing.

"Front!" Lyra warned.

The main wave hit. Five of them. They scrambled up the Centurion’s face, claws finding purchase in the bone gaps between the glass. They were trying to climb over the wall.

"They’re heavy," I grunted. The leash was burning now. Three threads active—Centurion bracing, Marrow fighting, Hollow diving.

"Mira," I said. "Now."

Mira stepped up behind the Centurion. She tossed a handful of powder over the shield.

"Close eyes!" she screamed.

I shut mine.

FLASH.

The magnesium flare turned the night white. Even through my eyelids, it stung.

The Leapers shrieked—a high, thin sound that hurt the teeth. They were nocturnal hunters; the light blinded them.

They fell back, scrabbling at their eyes.

"Clear the wall," I said.

I disconnected my mind from the Centurion’s stability for one second and threw it into the arms.

The construct swung its massive glass shield like a door.

It caught three blinded Leapers in mid-air and smashed them backward into the snow.

Bones broke. The sound was wet and final.

"Clear," Gareth called. "Left is clear."

"Right is clear," Pelham gasped. He was leaning on his spear, staring at the dead thing at his feet.

I opened my eyes. The spots danced in my vision.

The remaining Leapers had pulled back. They circled just out of the light, huffing vapor into the cold air. They had tested the wall. The wall had bitten back.

They turned and ran into the dark, toward the east.

"They’re leaving," Mira said, relieved.

"They’re not leaving," I said. "They’re going to the easier meal."

"Aldric," Lyra said.

We looked east. A faint orange glow flickered in the distance—fire. And then, a scream. Not a drill scream. Real terror.

"They breached," Cael said. He had appeared at the edge of our camp, Marcus beside him. They had their weapons drawn.

"You heard it?" I asked. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Hard to miss," Cael said. He looked at the Centurion, then at the dead Leapers. "You held."

"We have a wall," I said.

"Aldric doesn’t," Marcus said grimly. "His tent collapsed an hour ago in the wind. They’re exposed."

I looked at my team. They were tired. They were cold. But they were standing.

"We go," I said.

"We can’t leave the camp," Mira said. "If they circle back..."

"We don’t leave it," I said. "We take it with us."

I looked at the Centurion. "It’s a sled. Pack the stove. Pack the injured. We roll on me."

"That takes ten minutes," Gareth argued.

"We do it in five," I said. "Move."

We broke camp with a speed born of adrenaline. The stove was lashed to the chassis, still hot. The tent was rolled.

I hitched Marrow to the front. Cael and Marcus grabbed the rear push-bars.

"Ready," I said.

We ran across the frozen waste, pushing a wall of bone and glass toward the fire.

The scream came again, cut short.

"Faster," I said.

The leash hummed. The winter wasn’t done with us.