Carvedinstone's Saga - 22 / 04 / 2120

Carvedinstone's Saga
22 / 04 / 2120

"Lilja," the Beorning's voice grumbled as she approached me. I was leaning against the door. "I'm not in the mood tonight."

I raised an eyebrow. My hands fell down to my tight miniskirt, pulling it up enough to show the garters—and the fresh-shaven pussy, no panties in sight on the dark skin.

"Maybe I am," I said, one eyebrow raised, a seductive smile on my lips.

I needed access to Daleman's phone again. Whatever it took.

Except Daleman really wasn't in the mood. I could see it in the hunch of her massive shoulders. The way her eyes darted down the corridor every second or two. I had never seen her twitchy before.

"Not tonight," Daleman reported.

"Quillian. We need to talk about Vanessë," I said, switching gears. It was my only other card to play.

"What about her?" Daleman said after a moment.

"She's sweet on you," I said, honestly. I had to be honest with Daleman. She could smell if I wasn't. I leaned forward and played with the end of her long brown tie. "I don't think she knows what she's getting into. Do you?"

I stared up at her, and Daleman sighed. She tapped in the security code and the bolts unlocked. I backed into the room, which meant that I saw the way the Beorning scanned the room before she entered. That was new. Daleman was normal secure in her own apartment. After she secured the door, she tugged at her tie, then did a quick search of the apartment, eyes wide, nostrils sniffling.

Daleman's "bar" had started out life as a set of drawers; real wood, pale grey paint peeling. The drawers had been removed, and laser-cut bottle racks filled the empty spaces. The glassware covered the top. The mirror was ancient, black flecks peeling around the edges. I could see Daleman in her bedroom, removing jacket, tie, and suspenders. Badge and phone went on the box near the bed, the latter plugged in to charge.

I had to stand on my toes to grab a pair of glasses, and filled them up with soda and a Dwarf-style bourbon called Old Blackbeard's Private Reserve. The real stuff was aged carefully in wine barrels from Dale; this was something else...grain ****, food coloring, and some chemical additives for flavor. Still, it smelled better than some of the other bottles.

By the time I had two drinks in hand, Daleman was seated on the bed, her shirt open, bra off, undoing her laces. Mouth turned into a frown. Worry-lines around her eyes. She accepted the larger of the two glasses wordlessly, and threw it back at a gulp.

"How do you feel about Vanessë?" I asked, as she set the glass aside to pull her boots. Sipped my drink as I waited for an answer.

"She's a working girl. Like you," Daleman said, not meeting my gaze.

"Not like me. You know you're her first and so far only client?" I said.

Daleman's cheek twitched. She pulled off her boots, then the socks. Set her feet on the bare floor and stretched.

"Wasn't planting a flag anywhere," Daleman said. "Not my fault if she's developed feelings."

I stepped aside as she rose to her feet, glass in hand, to stock toward the bar.

"Have you?" I asked, though I rather knew the truth. Daleman could be a stone-cold killer, I'd seen her as a furry ball of rage, but she was too smart. "Vanessë said you offered her translation work with the cops."

"I put her name in. I don't handle assignments," Daleman said as she poured something into her glass that smelled like paint thinner. This she sipped, rather than swigged.

"What will you do when she wants more?" I pressed, and swirled the synth-bourbon in my glass.

"What the fuck do you care?" The Beorning growled. "What business is it of yours? You her pimp now?"

"I'm her friend, mama bear," I said. "And yours too, you big bitch. I'm worried that both of you are going to end up in a situation you don't know how to deal with, and at least one of you is going to get hurt. Vanessë doesn't know how dangerous your line of work is."

"Yeah, she does," Daleman said. She sipped her drink and grimaced. "Well, some of it. Anyway, I'm not falling for her. The sex is fun. I did her a favor. That's it. We're not dating, we're not monogamous..."

"Which is good, I wouldn't want her to get jealous when I eat your furry cunt later," I said with a smile.

Daleman nearly choked on her drink.

"Look, Quillian," I said. "You're stressed. I can see it. Something is happening. No, you don't have to tell me about it, I know there are parts of your work you can't talk about. I'm not trying to pry, I'm just saying...if you do feel something for Vanessë, you need to let her know. Be honest about what you are and aren't looking for. Communicate. Establish boundaries."

The Beorning set her empty glass on the top of the bar, where it left a wet ring. One of many that stained the top of the chest of drawers.

"Still don't know why you're telling me this," Daleman said. "I'm not paying you for it."

I punched her in the thigh, hard enough to make her bare her teeth. I set my empty glass next to hers.

"Because if you break her heart, you're both going to feel like shit. I care about my people. That's what I get out of it," I said. I meant every word, too. Even knowing that Daleman was a cop, and a corrupt cop, I'd spent too many nights with her tongue buried in my twat not to develop a certain fondness for the mountain of a woman. "I want you to promise you'll talk to her about it."

Daleman growled, deep in her throat, but she said: "Fine."

"Good. Now, stay right there," I said as I undid the button on her pants.

Beneath, the Beorning wore a thong. Neon pink, pulsing gently at the edges. The hair from her cunny crept out from every angle. I raised both eyebrows. Daleman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It was a gift from Vanessë," she said, and for the first time in my life I saw a bit of color creep into those high cheekbones. I smirked as I pulled them down. At the moment, she was dry. I leaned forward, barely having to lower my mouth at all to run my tongue over those netherlips.

This is where I'd hoped to end up without the heart-to-heart about the Elfkin. Face buried in her furry muff, all of her attention taken with sex. Later, when the time was right, I could get access to her phone. That was the plan.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Immediately, all the tension was back. Daleman pulled me roughly off of her pussy and pushed me toward the bedroom. The next second she was at the door. A screen on the wall popped up, showing a familiar camera angle. There was a Man outside the door. Buzzcut, long black coat.

"Arnorson," Daleman grunted as she fixed her pants, looked around for her shirt, then thought better of it and unlocked and disarmed the door. She looked at me and frowned. "Stay quiet. Don't let him know you're here."

I couldn't see the visitor's face as he stared at the huge, hulking, topless, barefoot Beorning. He said something, and they moved into the main room. I kept out of line of sight, behind the wall next to the door, as Daleman went through the process of closing and locking the door again. My eye caught sight of her phone, and I instinctively reached over and grabbed it. If I could lock myself in the bathroom, maybe I could access the police system again before Daleman even knew it was missing.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Daleman said. Voice cold and flat in way I'd never heard before.

"I finally followed your advice. Started looking through the files of everyone connected to this investigation, to try and find the leak," Arnorson said. My blood ran cold. I looked over at the chair, where Daleman had draped her leather shoulder-holster. The cold, polished black metal of her service pistol. "I found your searches in the police archives. Drake Industries. Is that who you're working for?"

"What?" The confusion in Daleman's voice was real. "The hell are you on about?"

"Don't lie to me again, animal," Arnorson said, and there was rage in that voice. "I trusted you. I know about the anonymous payments to your account. I should have known a beast like you would work for the dragon. Tell me where the weapon is, and I'll make your **** clean and painless."

"I don't know what the fuck you're—"

There was a sickening thud, and then something I'd never thought to hear. Daleman's scream. Followed by a crash and roar. Instinctively, I grabbed Daleman's pistol. Panicky, I remembered half-forgotten self-defense classes, checked the safety, flicked it off. There were crashes and roars from the other room, and that was scarier than anything else, because a fight with a Beorning in a room without weapons should have been over in seconds.

The pair of them crashed through the doorway, tearing off a chunk of the frame. Arnorson's arms, advanced cybernetics, gleamed like liquid chrome as he landed ontop of the fully-transformed Beorning. Sitting astride her midsection, his fists were a blur, landing hammer-blows on the head and face without let up, not giving Daleman any time to bring her claws or fangs to bear.

I raised the heavy pistol and fired, once. The recoil knocked me onto my ass, the bullet gouged a chunk out of his back. It made him look at me. Just for a second, Arnorson's attention was diverted, his gaze fell at me, face a mask of rage.

Then Daleman's teeth clamped on his skull and bit.

The skull cracked like a week-old egg, and for a moment I caught sight of a bright burst of blood and pink tissue that had to be his brain, shot through with metal wires. His face was still staring at me. Amazingly, I think he was still alive. Then Daleman shook her head, and the back half of his head fell down over his spine, and the wet, gooey organ oozed out and hit the floor with a wet splat.

It was the first time I'd seen the light fade from someone's eyes. To see that they were gone.

I dropped the gun. Phone still in hand, I raced for the bathroom and locked the door.

I don't know how long I sat there, back to the door, shaking. The phone clutched so tightly in my hand that it hurt. There was blood on my clothes. There was blood on my pussy, my naked thighs, my cleavage, in my hair. Headwounds were notorious, but popping Arnorson open like that had let loose a gusher. Behind the door, I heard movement. Heavy breathing. Groans of pain. Then, very quietly, steps toward the door. Instinctively, I braced for...I don't know what.

There was a soft knock, high up on the door.

"Lilja?" Daleman's voice was quiet, in a tone I'd never heard from her before. Not a cop-voice. Something infinitely more tender.

"Lilja, I need to dispose of the body and clean up the blood. I'm going to lock you into the apartment. Stay in the bathroom. Take a shower. We don't want you to leave any physical evidence behind until the scene is clean, okay?"

There was a pause.

"Short stuff, I need you to answer me, or I'm going to have to come in there," Daleman said, softly. "And I'm a mess."

"Don't," I said, instinctively, as I stared at the phone. "Don't come in. I'll take a shower. I won't leave."

"Good. Just let me handle this. Then we'll talk," Daleman promised.

I didn't know how long I had until she came back, or what she would do to me. Eliminate me as a witness? As an accomplice? Who the fuck even was that? What kind of cyberfreak could go toe-to-toe with a werebear in her own damn apartment?

Someone who traced the trail from the last time I hacked Daleman's account. Someone who had put two to two together and come up with five, because there was a piece of the puzzle I was missing. I thought about how Daleman had handled the investigation of those two who had been transporting the Uruk-Hai. The one now living with Rowethasdottir. That had caught Looseleaf's attention and drawn her interest in Drake Industries. Was Daleman working with them? Had I been licking the cunny of the enemy this whole Shadow-be-damned time?

Too many questions. I needed answers. And I knew where to get them.

More noises, from behind. I **** my eyes closed. **** myself to breathe. With shaking fingers, I popped the false tip from my braid and plugged into Daleman's phone.