Page 16 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)

Lazaar

Zepharali didn’t take his radiant eyes off him when he told whichever daughter was closest to release him.

“But, Father, he might—”

“Please do as I ordered, Meloidia.” Zepharali stroked Lazaar’s cheek, a soothing gesture that made the cell vanish. “He will not harm me.”

He didn’t know how his beloved was so sure, but he was right. Lazaar would never hurt or attack anyone. He was a peaceful man despite his lineage.

When the bars no longer separated them, Lazaar wanted to fly into Zepharali’s arms and bury his face against his throat.

“Why have you been sent to my world? What does Mother Earth and my brother, Orestes, have to do with all this?”

Lazaar didn’t look to his guardian any longer for help, knowing he couldn’t give him assistance. “I was sent for you, lord.”

Zepharali squinted. “Why?”

It wasn’t long before his insatiable thirst tried to constrict his throat, but he used every ounce of energy to force it down.

“I’m in danger in the Earth Realm.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I’ve only recently learned of my true descent. My mother is an all-powerful mage of the Coven of Ember Flames who used her lore to get into my fathers’ beds to create me. The first tribrid.”

The titan’s pulse throbbed in his neck, pumping his blood so loudly Lazaar couldn’t concentrate.

“Who are your fathers?”

What? Huh?

His mind was so out of sorts he couldn’t understand basic words.

“Tribrid, who are your fathers?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Zepharali inched closer.

“Are you telling me the truth, Prince Lazaaras Nyateagor?”

He groaned at the sound of his newish name on the titan’s full lips. His proximity caused his fangs to descend despite all the energy he exerted.

“I can explain, lord.” Oleksandr inched forward, then paused as if waiting to see if his tongue would be burned off. “If I may speak.”

“You may.”

“Lazaar was never told of his true mother and fathers. He’d been convinced he was orphaned. For his protection, not deception.” Oleksandr sounded upset about it for the first time. “His fathers believed he could be good if guided by good. That is why they risked their lives to go to the Earth Realm and plead to the Mother for help.”

Lazaar was beginning to loathe this story.

“His fathers are Zar’uuth Nyateagor, the Lord Warlock of the World of Dark Days, and Al’goth Nyateagor, Fire Lord of the Ash Lands.”

Zepharali turned his attention away, but Lazaar couldn’t stop gazing, not even after hearing the names of his fathers and their lordships for the first time.

They were irrelevant.

His beloved stood so close that when he turned his head, his hair brushed Lazaar’s cheek.

He’d never seen hair so gorgeous.

The thick twists weren’t braids as he’d thought because each strand was unique. Some were light saffron, others were sandy with shimmering sapphire shards glistening near the ends, and the rest were the shade of rustic brass.

It was a work of art hanging over his shoulders and flowing down his back to his hip like a golden waterfall.

Lazaar’s hands trembled when he reached to touch one, desperate for a feel.

The titan’s guards shot forward in a defensive stance, but it didn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop.

Lazaar took two strands into his palm, startled at the silken texture. He ran his fingers through a tangled web of beauty, almost feeling a sense of connection to his intended. As if each fiber wove Zepharali’s life journey.

“Do you like them?” the titan rumbled.

Lazaar had been so transfixed he hadn’t realized he was being watched.

“I’ve been growing them since birth.”

He glanced up, his eyes locking on a swirling vortex of deep citron, mirroring the light of the three suns. A world of passion whispered to him in their depths, drawing him closer while time stood still.

“I like them very much, my lord.”

Lazaar was breathing hard, the robust scent of sweet blood filling his nose, his heart pumping so loud that his ears were ringing.

“Now I know all that you are, tribrid.”

Lazaar blinked through the fog.

“A dark warlock, a fire lord…” Zepharali reached one tattooed hand toward him and ran a calloused thumb along Lazaar’s bottom lip before he caressed a long fang. “And a vampire.”

Oh gods.

He waited to be shoved away, to be tossed back into the cell until the titan could figure out how to get rid of him.

Lazaar would be devastated, but he would not retaliate. Instead, he’d plead for mercy, for death.

“A revered man with a great destiny would come to me boldly, and my heart would answer,” Zepharali whispered.

Lazaar didn’t know what that meant, but he liked the sound of it.

“Now I know why Orestes sent you to me.” Zepharali gave him a seductive smile that lit a fire in his groin. “A beloved. One who will love me more than my heart can receive.”

“Father…is this…”

“Yes, Dorema. He is my prophecy fulfilled.”

The guards broke formation, hugging each other and cheering so loud it startled him.

“What’s—” Lazaar looked to his guardian, who nodded at him as if he were proud.

“Daughters.” Zepharali smoothed his hand over Lazaar’s filthy hair, unfazed by the greasiness. “Take him to my quarters. See that every attendant in my palace aids you in caring for him. I want him bathed and catered to like a god.”

“Yes, Father!”

The daughter with the gold bands over her armor was beaming with pretty, white teeth when she gripped Lazaar by his wrists and pulled him away.

He tugged against her grasp. But I wanna go with him.

Zepharali must’ve seen the panic on his face.

“You’re safe, and don’t fret, my prince. You won’t be out of my sight for long.”

“I’ll see that his sentinel and phoenix remain with him.”

“Thank you, Dorema.”

Zepharali kissed each daughter on the cheek as they walked by.

Dorema seemed to remember something when she spun and asked, “And what should we have the galley attendants prepare for his meal?”

Zepharali looked at him. His smoldering eyes conveyed a silent message that made the air around them crackle and spark with fire.

“Nothing.” His titan winked before he turned and walked away with the six guards he’d arrived with.

The tough females who’d locked him in the cell were no longer an intimidating legion. They released jovial laughs while they tugged on him as if he were their new favorite toy.

He was dragged down a long corridor and was almost at the exit when a faint drift of warm, summer-scented air caressed his cheek.

A deep, melodic voice whispered a secret in his ear.

“I will be your meal this eve, beloved.”

Lazaar’s knees went weak.