Page 33 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)

Zepharali

It was still dark, but dawn would be approaching soon, and Zepharali hadn’t slept a wink. His heart was at the highest peak in his realm, hiding, crying, and he didn’t know what to do.

He never thought he’d make Lazaar that angry for trying to protect him. Didn’t he know how important he was to his existence?

Zepharali guessed he had been selfish, only thinking of himself and not how his actions would affect Lazaar.

His mate was a tribrid of immense power, and before he’d had a chance to display it, Zepharali had snatched the opportunity away.

“I’ve known the prince for many years, my lord. Give him some time. He’ll calm and accept the comfort of your element again.”

That’s what Oleksandr told him last night before he retired to his quarters.

Zepharali shook his head at his stupidity. He owed his heart an apology and a declaration that he’d never do that again.

Lyan and Dyan were lying in each other’s arms across the chaise in his chambers, trying to convince him to go to Lazaar.

He’d been standing on his balcony—had been the entire time—his gaze locked on the mountain peak.

He’d sent kisses, love, his wind, but none had been received.

“He doesn’t want a kiss sent from miles away, my lord,” Lyan argued. “Go to him, swallow your pride—like he was forced to—fall to your knees, and beg his forgiveness. You were wrong, and you must own that. Give him the respect of a real verbal apology. Not one you’ve floated on your wind.”

Zepharali relented with a single nod, and Dyan was quick to grab his cloak and drape it around his shoulders. He pulled up the oversized hood until it hung low on his forehead.

“What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

“He will. You’re his beloved. He can only stay away for so long before it causes him immense pain,” Lyan promised. “He’s just mad, my lord. All couples argue. Even the fated ones.”

Zepharali landed beside the tree Lazaar was curled under. He had at least a dozen kinkalopes nestled around him, keeping him warm.

If Zepharali wasn’t so stricken with heartache, he would’ve thought the sight adorable.

Lazaar would rather receive the comfort of these critters than the tenderness from his heart.

Zepharali went down on his knees.

He saw the dreary black-and-gray aura hovering near Lazaar’s core. The realization he’d hurt him so deeply sent a stab of agony throughout his body.

Lazaar was awake, his breathing changing to quick, shallow bursts, though he didn’t move or open his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Zepharali begged. “Please…forgive me, my love.”

After a couple of agonizing minutes that felt like hours, Lazaar stood, sending his friends scurrying away.

He looked wrecked, as if he’d been crying all night.

Zepharali opened his arms and held his breath.

A lonely tear slid down Lazaar’s splotchy cheek before he went into Zepharali’s outstretched arms and buried his face against his throat.

Self-hatred choked him as he wrapped his arms tight around his heart’s love and sent all the powerful feelings he had in his core toward him.

Lazaar sighed and nestled closer.

“I love you,” Zepharali whispered. “When you left me, my heart screamed for you.”

I heard it, beloved. Each call felt like a blade stabbing my soul.

Zepharali moaned in anguish before he held Lazaar tighter to his chest and bolted into the sky.

He would take his wounded prince to a place where he could heal him properly.