Page 5 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)
Lazaar
Lazaar didn’t decrease his speed, even when Oleksandr yelled for him to slow down.
Myst soared past him and released a drawn-out, laughing cackle, coasting on the hot breeze and flipping over so her chest was exposed to the radiant ball of gas in the sky.
Lazaar didn’t stop until there was nowhere else for him to go.
He dropped to his rear, ignoring the sharp-edged rocks digging into him.
Lazaar gasped for breath while staring at a beautiful mass of crystal-blue water nestled in the uneven landscape. The land seemed to stretch farther than his enhanced vision could see—or maybe the lands didn’t end.
The stories his own people had written about other realms and landscapes did not do the real thing justice.
It’s all real.
The riveting stories his elders told around their nightly bonfires of fantasy worlds like Earth, which was mostly covered in vast oceans, would fuel his daydreams for hours.
The tale about planets orbiting a solar system had been one of his many favorites. He’d enjoyed it almost as much as the story about the Land of Three Suns.
Lazaar choked on a sob.
He was even crying for the first time, having never thought sadness and heartache could touch him.
Why wasn’t I allowed any of this beauty? What did I do to be cast into a land covered in shadows and darkness?
Myst landed beside him, perhaps sensing his discomfort, and covered his back with one of her wings.
Lazaar nestled his face into her soft black feathers and cried until he no longer hurt. But the rage in his chest remained constant.
Oleksandr finally reached the top, his steps hesitant…and they should be.
“Why, Olek? What have my people and I done to not be worthy of this?” Lazaar swept his arms in a wide arc.
“Lord. Forgive us for not telling you sooner. But I thought I had more time, that we all had more time.”
Us? All? So he was the only fool.
Lazaar balled his fists and slammed them into the ground, causing the terrain to shake hard enough that Oleksandr lost his footing and Myst took off into the sky.
“Lord, you must calm yourself. If you take a moment to breathe and look around—thoroughly look—you will notice that the stories we told you were never a lie. Concentrate, and you’ll recognize everything you gaze upon.”
Lazaar got to his feet.
“You were sent, my lord, just not by who you were told.”
Lazaar hated the unwanted feeling building in his chest, stabbing pains of despair that shattered his once gentle heart.
“Then who?” he snapped.
Oleksandr ducked as branches flew over his head, and the tree trunks cracked deep enough for them to topple.
With his arms outstretched toward him, his guardian appeared scared. “I will explain everything if you—”
“I said who! Answer me!”
His rage made the ground shake harder and the mountain groan as if it were being hurt.
“I did.”
Lazaar had been so consumed with getting an answer that made sense that he hadn’t heard the man behind him until he spoke.
He could do nothing but stand there gaping. In his world, everyone looked alike. There was no variety.
Lazaar had never seen anything more intriguing. His body felt drawn to this person. So much so his gums burned and a ravenous hunger overcame him, shooting unimaginable agony into his stomach.
The man placed a firm hand on Lazaar’s shoulder, and the ache receded.
“I sent you with Oleksandr, the silent sentinel to the haven, Chessuven, for your own well-being, for your safety, Lazaar, or may I call you by the given name of your fathers, Lazaaras Nyateagor.”
“That’s not my name,” Lazaar muttered.
“I made up your world and the reason you were sent…not born there.” The pale-faced man stood rigid in his impeccable black pants and jacket. “Your real fathers, the Lords of the Dark Realms, honored you with many names.”
Lazaar felt a fresh wave of tears and fury because he could see the truth in the man’s dark eyes.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Chadwick Bentley, Vampire King. Because of your regal stature, I’ll allow you to call me Wick.”
Lazaar blinked. Regal?
“Behind me, lurking in the woods, is my true mate. Forgive us, but he’s chosen to meet you in his wolf form.” Wick was silent for a moment before a huge white-and-gray wolf with eyes bluer than the sky eased beside the king and sat back on its haunches. “Lazaaras, Prince of the Dark Worlds, you stand before the Alpha Zenith, Justice Volkov.”
The half man, half wolf. Another one of Lazaar’s favorite stories.
This was almost too much for him to fathom.
“He is in his wolf form for protection.” Wick wove one hand into the thick scruff of fur on top of the alpha’s head. “You possess a power that is not of this world, Prince, and my mate may be defenseless against them as a human.”
“I won’t attack anyone,” Lazaar hurried to say. “And my powers are for giving, serving, not hurting.”
“Your fathers risked everything to leave their Darks Worlds to contact the Mother and me.” Wick smiled with gleaming white teeth, giving Lazaar a glimpse of two sharp fangs. “All to protect you from certain death. I’m relieved the haven I built accomplished what your fathers wanted.”
Lazaar had dozens of questions, if not hundreds. But nothing was more pressing than him needing to know… “Who was the woman in red?”
The Vampire King didn’t hesitate. “Lavinia Drach, your mother. The most powerful mage-vampire to ever come from the Coven of Ember Flames. Where the most evil and deadly witches reside.”
Evil…a witch.
Lazaar doubled over and dropped to his knees, the sting of betrayal causing outrage to consume him.