Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles #4) - Ilona Andrews Page 0,76

But she was so damn tired of being careful and prudent. Something wild swept through her like a scorching sariv.

She kissed him.

His lips were warm on hers and she opened her mouth and let him in. He tasted just as she’d imagined, hot and male, and he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered. It started tender, then turned hungry, as if they both couldn’t get enough. Her whole body strummed with need. He kissed her until she could think of nothing except stripping off her clothes and climbing on top of him to feel him against her skin.

They broke apart. His eyes had turned dark. She saw raw naked lust in his face and it thrilled her.

“Looks like I still have some use of my left arm,” he said.

“It does,” she said and emptied the cartridge of sedative into his back.

Maud stared at the display projecting from her harbinger. The medic didn’t answer, which wasn’t unusual. Medics often ignored direct calls because they were occupied, and Arland’s handiwork on the lawn guaranteed the medical staff would be busy. But after calling him directly, Maud had tried the medward and hadn’t received an answer either. That didn’t happen. There was always someone in the medward.

She had to find some way to get Arland down there. Leaving him alone wasn’t an option. He was sedated and had to be under observation. Besides, his injuries needed to be treated. They weren’t life threating, but they were urgent.

She tried the medward again.

No answer. What the hell?

She could try Soren. Arland was ducking his uncle, but given that he was peacefully sleeping, Soren couldn’t exactly bug him with whatever duties Arland had been avoiding. She tried Lord Soren.

No answer.

A cold heavy weight landed in her stomach and rolled around. Something was wrong. Something bad had happened or was happening.

Helen.

Maud snapped a brisk order. “Helen, priority override.” The parental override would pierce through whatever Helen was doing. It would interrupt a video, or another call, and it would supersede a silence setting.

No answer.

Panic hit her in an icy rush. She used logic to surf the wave of fear, keeping on top of it. Either nobody was answering her calls, or her harbinger had been jammed. If someone was jamming her calls, it meant only one thing. An attack was coming.

A door chime, normally soothing, lashed her senses. Maud unsheathed her sword, priming it. The blood blade screeched.

Another chime.

“Show me,” she ordered.

A screen ignited above the door, showing the hallway and Karat, alone. Karat’s face was paler than usual, her expression tight, her eyes focused. Only House Krahr had enough power and resources to jam her unit. She was on their communication grid. The other vampire Houses didn’t have access to this part of the castle, and they didn’t have the capabilities to penetrate the House communication network and isolate her, specifically.

She and Karat were friendly. If House Krahr had turned on her, that’s exactly who they would send.

“Audio,” Maud said. The audio icon flashed in the corner of the screen. “Yes?”

“Open the door,” Karat said.

“I’m indisposed at the moment. Can it wait?”

“It’s an emergency.”

Sure it is. “What sort of emergency?”

“Maud, we don’t have time for this.” Karat put her hand against the door. “Command override.”

The door slid open. Maud backed away, putting herself between Karat and Arland, giving herself room to work.

“Put that away!” Karat waved her hand. “You have to come with me. Helen was poisoned.”

14

Maud ran.

She had heard two words: poisoned and medward. She didn’t wait for anything else. She just sprinted. Hallways flew by, the doors flashing one after another. The air in her lungs turned to fire, but she barely noticed. Karat chased her but had fallen far behind.

The medward loomed ahead. There were people in the antechamber, Ilemina, Otubar, Soren, but they might as well have been ghosts. Getting to the door was all that mattered. She tore past them and burst into the triage chamber.

Maud saw it all in an instant, the image was seared into her mind in a fraction of a second: Helen lying on a medbed, tiny and pale; a dozen metal arms hovering over her; the spiderweb of an advanced iv drip; and the medic sitting next to her, his face grim.

She charged to the bed, and then Karat was on top of her, pulling her back with all of her strength, and the medic was in front of her, holding his arms out, saying something. She fought her way forward, dragging