Chapter 18 Forla
FORLA
The tunnel leads us through the bowels of Eelry like the throat of some great beast. Nazim moves ahead with the confidence of someone who's walked these passages many times, his serpentine form flowing through spaces that would challenge the rest of us.
"Not much further," Nazim whispers, his forked tongue tasting the stale air. "Just ahead."
The passage opens into a cavern carved from living rock, larger than I expected and surprisingly well-appointed.
Barrels of ale sit stacked against one wall, alongside cured meats wrapped in oiled cloth and clay jugs of what smells like clean water.
Small alcoves have been carved into the walls—separate sleeping chambers, each barely large enough for one person but offering privacy.
"How long have you maintained this place?" I ask, already taking inventory of our supplies with my healer's instincts.
"Years," Nazim replies. "Old smuggler's cache from when I was... less reformed. We can stay here safely until morning. The entrance is warded against detection, and there are three other ways out if we need them."
Thoktar sinks onto a simple stool, his body finally acknowledging the punishment it's taken. I can see the gash across his forearm from his arena fight, the way he favors his ribs. But he's alive. We're alive.
A calm settles as Nazim pours each of us a mug of ale. The relief it brings is welcome.
“More.” Rophan says.
The madness has left his eyes, but something haunted remains.
“Of course, your help turned the day in our favour, my friend.” Nazim says pouring him another mugful. “Tell us, how did such a powerful and noble one end up as a dark elf plaything?”
“Powerful, I am, noble I am far from,” Rophan replies, downing the fresh ale in one mouthful. “More.”
Nazim obliges.
When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of old sorrows.
"The Fire Run," he begins without preamble, as if speaking to the shadows rather than us. "Sacred trial of the minotaur. Climb the volcano of Aegino, take the lava, prove your worth to the gods."
None of us interrupt. There's something in his tone that demands silence.
"I raced against another minotaur. Romas." The name comes out like a curse. "Proud bastard, thought himself better than everyone."
His massive hands clench into fists, knuckles still raw from the arena fights.
"He cheated..." His voice drops to a growl. "I woke to find both ships gone. Mine, his—sailing away together. Romas had convinced my crew to abandon me. Left me on that cursed rock to die."
My heart clenches. I know what abandonment feels like, what it means to be left behind by those who should protect you.
"The island... it does things to your mind. The spirits, the endless heat, the hunger. Years I spent there, fighting monsters, eating whatever I could catch. Years of madness, of rage, of planning what I'd do when I escaped."
"How did you get off?" I ask softly.
"Demons." Rophan's laugh is bitter. "The only race dumb enough to try and plunder Aegino. By then I was more beast than minotaur. They took me, broke what was left of my sanity and sold me to the dark elves." He looks up at us with eyes that have seen too much.
I think of Thoktar in the arena, how his words pierced the minotaur's madness, how I saw the warrior he'd been beneath the monster they'd made him.
"Where is this Romas now?" Thoktar asks.
"Miltar," Rophan says without hesitation. "Most likely living the life of a hero. My villa claimed, my name stamped into mud.” The minotaur's eyes burn with cold fire. "One day, I will have my revenge. One day, Romas will pay."
The promise hangs and I don't doubt he means every word.
Nazim produces food from the stores—dried meat, hard bread, cheese that's seen better days but remains edible. We eat in contemplative silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The simple act of sharing a meal feels like luxury after the horrors of the arena.
"Rest," Nazim says eventually. "I'll take first watch. The wards will hold, but prudence costs nothing."
Nazim guesters toward the small rooms. Rophan chooses the one closest to the entrance, still a guard even in sanctuary. Nazim coils in the main chamber, his yellow eyes reflecting what little light remains.
Thoktar takes my hand and leads me the room he has chosen for us. We lie down on the furs on the floor, his warmth radiating through the cool underground air.
"Forla," he whispers.
"I'm here," I whisper back.
In the dim light of the room, I can see everything I've been holding back reflected in his eyes. We've been through hell together, separately and side by side. We've faced death and betrayal and loss, but we've survived. We're here, together, alive.
"I thought I'd lost you," I breathe, moving closer to him. "When they dragged you away, when I found Talia and Brom..."
"I know." He reaches out, his fingers finding mine in the darkness. "But you didn't. You found me. You saved me."
"We saved each other."
His hand is warm in mine, calloused from weapons but gentle in touch.
"When I was in those cells," he continues, "when I thought I might never see you again, I held onto something."
"What?"
He releases my hand just long enough to pull out the small carved charm I made for him, still hidden beneath his shirt where the guards never found it.
"You," he says simply. "Always you."
My breath catches, and then I'm moving closer, my body drawn to his like iron to a lodestone. Our lips meet in the darkness, desperate and grateful and full of all the words we haven't had time to speak.
The kiss starts soft, grateful, almost reverent.
Then it detonates.
Thoktar’s hand spears into my hair, twists until my scalp stings, and he drags my head back so hard my throat is a long, helpless line for his mouth. His tusks scrape my pulse, teeth sinking in just enough to bruise.
“I’m done being gentle tonight,” he growls against my skin. “You want to taste every fucking inch of my woman before the world tries to take her from me again.”
I whimper, already soaking through what’s left of my ruined dress.
He rips it off me in one violent yank. Fabric tears like paper. Cool air kisses my bare skin and I shiver, but his huge body cages me against the furs, heat pouring off him like a forge.
“On your back. Legs open. Show me what’s mine.”
I obey instantly, spreading wide, knees falling to the sides, offering my dripping pussy to him like tribute. He drops between my thighs without ceremony, shoulders forcing me even wider, and buries his face and feasts.
His tongue is rough, merciless. He licks a long, filthy stripe from my asshole to my clit, groans like a starving animal, then does it again. And again. And again. Until I’m sobbing, hips bucking, trying to ride his face.
He pins my thighs down with forearms thicker than my waist and sucks my clit into his mouth so hard my vision whites out. Two thick fingers slam into my cunt, curling, pumping, while his tongue lashes without rhythm or mercy.
I come screaming, thighs clamped around his head, squirting over his chin and neck. He doesn’t stop. He drinks every drop, growling, then moves lower.
His tongue circles my asshole, wet and insistent.
I jerk, shocked, but he holds me open with brutal hands and spears inside.
The intrusion is filthy, perfect, overwhelming.
He tongue-fucks my ass while three fingers now stretch my pussy, thumb grinding my clit until I’m babbling nonsense, coming again so hard I almost black out.
He rises up on his knees, face shining with me, eyes feral.
“Turn over. Tits down, ass up. I’m not finished eating.”
I scramble to obey, cheek pressed to the furs, back arched, presenting both holes like the desperate little slut he’s turned me into.
He spreads my cheeks wide and goes back to work, alternating, tongue in my ass, fingers in my cunt, then switching, until I’m a trembling, drooling mess who can only moan “please, please, please” into the same way other women pray.
He flips me again, drags me up by the hair until I’m kneeling.
My tits are heaving, nipples so hard they ache.
He slaps one, then the other, watching them bounce, then latches onto a nipple and sucks like he’s trying to leave permanent marks.
Teeth, tongue, suction, until I’m grinding against nothing and begging again.
He shoves me flat on my back, straddles my ribcage, and feeds his monstrous cock between my tits. The weight of him pins me; the slick head of his cock nudges my chin with every thrust.
“Open that pretty mouth.”
I do, tongue out, drooling for it. He fucks my tits harder, using them like a toy, spitting on the valley to make it glide, occasionally slapping my cheek with his dripping cockhead.
Then he moves higher.
He grips my jaw, forces my mouth wide, and slides his cock straight down my throat in one brutal thrust.
I gag instantly, tears springing to my eyes, but he doesn’t stop. He holds my head immobile and starts fucking my face like it’s another cunt, hips snapping, balls slapping my chin. Spit pours from my lips, mascara-black tears streaking my cheeks, and I’ve never been wetter in my life.
“Look at you,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Dirty little human fuck-doll. Choking on orc cock like you were born for it.”
I moan around him, the vibration making him curse. My hands scrabble at his thighs, not to push away, never that, but to pull him deeper. He laughs, dark and filthy, and obliges, burying himself until my nose is crushed against his pelvis and I can’t breathe.
He holds there until my vision tunnels, then pulls out just long enough for me to gasp one desperate breath before plunging back in. Again. Again. Again. Until I’m limp, floating, existing only for the cock wrecking my throat.
He pulls free with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting us, and hauls me up by the throat.
“Beg.”
The word is barely human.
“Please,” I sob, voice shredded. “Please, please, Master, I need your seed. Need you to fill me, breed me, mark me, please—”
He throws me onto all fours, lines up, and slams into my cunt so hard the slap echoes off stone.
One punishing stroke and I’m coming again, walls fluttering around the impossible girth of him.
He doesn’t pause, just grips my hips hard enough to bruise and starts pounding, using me exactly like the ragdoll he promised.
Every thrust shoves me forward into the furs. My tits swing, nipples scraping rough hide. He reaches around, pinches my clit, and I scream into the pelts as another orgasm rips through me.
He pulls out, flips me, shoves back in, folds me in half until my ankles are by my ears and drives so deep I feel him in my womb. The angle is obscene; I can see his slick cock disappearing into my body over and over, stretching me obscenely wide.
“Watch,” he snarls. “Watch your greedy little cunt swallow its master.”
I do, and the sight alone nearly makes me come again.
He fucks me through two more shattering climaxes, until I’m limp and shaking and can only whimper. Then he pulls out, fists my hair, and drags my mouth back to his cock.
“Swallow every drop, pet.”
He comes with a roar that rattles the cavern, thick, endless ropes flooding my throat. I gulp frantically, choking, tears and spit and cum dripping down my chin onto my tits. When he’s finally spent he pulls out and paints the last spurts across my face, marking me, owning me.
I collapse, utterly used, blissed-out, ruined.
He gathers me gently, surprisingly gentle after the savagery, and presses my cum-slick face to his chest.
“Mine,” he whispers into my hair, voice hoarse from roaring.
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.