Page 12 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)
Lazaar
Lazaar was doing everything in his power to control his immediate urge to mount, bite, and suck Zepharali dry. He was certain the titan tasted as delicious as he smelled.
He even attempted to hold his breath.
Over the last couple of days, Lazaar had become familiar with the unique fragrances of honeysuckle and the juicy oranges—exactly how his beloved smelled—he’d consumed to satisfy his hunger.
Zepharali came close enough for Lazaar to lay his cheek against his thick chest.
Gods, please. Keep me sane.
This close, he could see Zepharali’s chiseled features, which held a determined expression that never wavered. His captivating gold, hazel, and jade glare roamed his face as if searching Lazaar for any signs of danger.
The ruler of the three suns stood over him, never breaking eye contact. He was a formidable guardian of this realm in his golden armor, with his gleaming sword gripped tight in his right hand.
Lazaar couldn’t look away if he tried. Zepharali was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He’d been confined to a world consumed by shadows since birth. None of his people had such light features. He hadn’t even known they existed.
He was used to men, women, and various species having pale faces and skin from the lack of light, with black hair and dark eyes.
Zepharali was flawless, with all that tanned skin over bulging muscles he wanted to smooth his palms over.
Lazaar didn’t look away until Myst released a short, high-pitched screech. It was then he realized the mountainside was trembling with the sounds of an approaching army.
“Good. Perhaps your daughters can talk some sense into you.”
Lazaar was unimpressed and more than disappointed with his first impression of the real Arctic Titan. The tales had not done his coldness justice.
He could only hope Zepharali was a man who made his own choices and was not swayed or ruled by others.
“Greetings.”
Zepharali’s voice was better than the heat of his world, smoother and more melodic than he knew possible, luring him closer.
Lazaar barely contained his groan.
He wanted to speak, to respond, but his fangs had descended and were stabbing the underside of his tongue. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut tight and allow Oleksandr to speak for him until he could control his hunger and not appear so rabid.
It was already becoming difficult to remain in his regal posture.
“Where you’re from, is it not customary to return a greeting?”
Lazaar cut his eyes toward Oleksandr. Do something.
“Lord Zepharali,” his guardian started. “Prince Lazaaras is from the—”
“Silence,” the titan ordered, never turning away from him. “I know he can speak. I want to hear him answer.”
Oh no.
Lazaar began to tremble as the mountain shook harder. Myst grew anxious and inched closer, but she didn’t release her flames.
“Why have you been sent here?”
Lazaar blinked. Because you’ve been made my vampire’s beloved.
He’d be crazy to say that, regardless of the fact that his gums burned and his stomach clenched with unholy hunger.
He’d been fine for the couple of days Zepharali had been gone, but with his beloved’s return, his vampire senses were even more heightened, so much that he could hear the hot blood pumping in the titan’s veins and his heart pounding behind his thick armor.
Lazaar stayed upright with his knees locked and spine stiff despite how close Zepharali got.
His mouth watered, the scent of blood making his vampire predatory.
Oleksandr, help me!
“Why have you fled from the Earth Realm and—”
“If I may, my lord,” Oleksandr interjected.
“You may not. And if you speak again, I will scorch your tongue off.” Zepharali’s sword burned brighter. “You are a silent sentinel, yes?”
Oleksandr nodded.
“Then honor your title.”
Myst flapped her wings but didn’t attack. It meant his protector—although anxious—did not sense imminent danger from the titan.
Zepharali got closer.
Lazaar tasted copper on his tongue as his fangs dug deeper into his bottom lip. He was terrified of what would happen if he revealed them now. Would Zepharali be disgusted, angry, put off?
A dozen or so imposing women with long blonde hair and wearing full battle gear with swords attached to their backs were led by the other two titanesses who had come with Zepharali on the first reconnaissance.
Before the two leaders could dismount their massive stallions, the Treasure of the Realms raised one fist in the air while continuing to watch his and Zepharali’s interaction.
The guards had no choice but to halt at the king’s command.
Zepharali leaned in and inhaled deeply against Lazaar’s throat.
“There’s that smell,” he rumbled with a huskiness as intoxicating as the finest wine. “Guana berries. My favorite.”
It was a voice that promised absolute pleasure.
Zepharali pulled back enough for Lazaar to glare at Oleksandr, who was too afraid to talk lest he lose his tongue.
“You refuse to speak.”
No. I want to, more than anything, gorgeous beloved, but I just can’t. Not here, not now.
“Tread carefully, brother,” Boraleashe chimed in again.
Zepharali harrumphed, still staring into Lazaar’s eyes.
“You don’t seem all that dangerous to me.”
“Then you’re gravely underestimating it. That is a tribrid of the dark.”
Lazaar vibrated with anger. I’m not an “it,” gods damn you.
Zepharali nodded. “I’ve heard your many concerns, Boraleashe. Thank you.”
“Since you refuse to speak, I will detain you until you do.”
No, no, no.
Zepharali turned his back on him, and Lazaar’s throat constricted with emotion, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Detain them both,” his titan ordered.
The legion came forward and seized Oleksandr first. Myst leapt in front of Lazaar with her wings spread wide in a warning.
Zepharali mounted his honey-blond stallion, shooting a fierce glare in his direction.
“And control your beast. She can remain at your side, but I will not permit you to roam Scáthanna until you answer my questions.”
Lazaar held up his hands and began to follow. He had no fight left in him to refuse. He rubbed against Myst, needing her comfort, and eased her along with him.