I nuzzle into him, wrecked and perfect.
“Yours, Master,” I breathe. “Always.”
Outside the alcove, Rophan’s snores and Nazim’s soft hiss of breath remind us the world still exists.
Inside, there is only the smell of sex, the taste of his seed on my tongue, and the delicious ache between my thighs that says I have been thoroughly, perfectly claimed.
19
THOKTAR
Dawn filters through the tunnel entrance like spilled milk, pale and cold against the stone. I wake with Forla in my arms, her breathing soft and steady against my chest. For a moment—just one precious moment—I let myself believe we're safe, that we can stay in this underground haven forever.
But the real world presses in with the growing light. Nazim stirs in his alcove, scales scraping softly against rock, and the sound reminds me that we're still hunted, still running.
"Time to go," Forla whispers against my chest.
My arms tighten around her briefly before releasing. "I know."
We dress in the dim light, our movements quiet and efficient. The intimacy of the night before feels like a dream now, though I can still taste her on my lips, still feel the ghost of her touch. Rophan emerges from his chamber already armed, his massive frame filling the tunnel entrance as he tests the air.
"Clean," he rumbles. "No pursuit yet."
Nazim distributes what supplies we can carry—dried meat, water skins, a few coins that might buy passage if we find honestmerchants. His movements are sharp, economical, but I catch the tension in his coiled frame. Something's troubling him.
"The boats are moored in the old harbor," he says as we prepare to leave. "Fishing vessels, nothing fancy, but they'll get us north along the coast."
"You sound uncertain," I observe.
"I am." Nazim's forked tongue flickers out, tasting something in the air I can't detect. "But it's our only option. Stay close, and if I signal, run."
The tunnel leading to the harbor is different from the one that brought us here—narrower, older, with walls that weep moisture and strange symbols carved into the stone. Our footsteps echo softly in the confined space, and I find myself automatically taking point, my warrior instincts alert for any threat.
The smell reaches us first.
Smoke. Char. And underneath it, something else—something that makes my orcish senses recoil in disgust. Death. Burned flesh. The stench of deliberate cruelty. Nazim freezes ahead of us, his entire body going rigid.
"No," he whispers. "No, no, no."
We emerge from the tunnel into gray morning light, and the blood in my veins turns to ice.
The harbor stretches before us, its waters dark with ash and debris. But dominating the scene is the ship—our escape route—burning like a massive funeral pyre in the middle of the bay. Orange flames lick at its masts, sending black smoke spiraling into the dawn sky.
And hanging from those burning masts...
"Gods," I breathe.
Bodies swing in the morning breeze. Naga bodies, their serpentine forms charred and broken, suspended by chains that gleam red-hot in the fire's light. Even from this distance, Ican see they were burned alive—the way they're positioned, the deliberate cruelty of it makes my warrior's soul rage.
Nazim makes a sound I've never heard before—part hiss, part wail, part roar of pure anguish. It's the sound of a heart breaking.
"My people," he whispers.
My hand finds Forla's, squeezing gently. I know that sound, that grief. I felt it when I thought my clan was lost forever.
"Touching, isn't it?"
The voice cuts through the morning air like a blade, cultured and cold. We spin to find Dark Elves emerging from concealment behind shipping containers and coiled rope. Thirty of them, armored in black leather and bearing weapons that gleam with their own malevolent light.
