Chapter 8 - The Wrath of the Warden
The Warden didn't growl.
When a dog like that growls, it’s giving a warning. When it attacks with absolute, terrifying silence, it’s executing an order.
The one-hundred-and-thirty-five-pound Rottweiler launched its entire body forward like a cannonball.
Crash.
The massive skull struck the lower pane of the ballistic glass doors with a sound like a small arms explosion. The impact sent a spiderweb of white fractures radiating across the laminate layer, but the glass held.
"What is that noise?" Julian’s voice snapped over the intercom, a sudden edge of panic breaking through his calm facade. "What are you doing in there?"
Damon didn't answer. He grabbed a heavy oak dining chair from the corner of the room, ran across the parquet floor, and hurled it directly into the center of the cracked glass.
Crash!
The reinforced laminate finally gave way, collapsing inward in a cascade of glittering shards and heavy plastic sheeting. Freezing night air rushed into the bedroom, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
Before the glass had even finished hitting the terrace tiles, the Warden vaulted through the shattered frame into the freezing dark, vanishing over the edge of the balcony toward the courtyard below.
"Maya," Damon said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully. You are going to stay right behind me. Do you understand?"
May you like
She nodded, her amber eyes blazing with an eerie, quiet courage that reminded him entirely too much of her mother.
Damon drew his Sig Sauer, flicked off the safety, and stepped through the broken balcony doors out into the cold night air.
