The wind had shifted.

Nyira knew it before she even opened her eyes.

It wasn't the sun—though it burned a little hotter that morning. Nor was it the breeze through the acacia branches above her, stirring the dust and scent of lion bodies sprawled in sleep. It was something in her. A stirring.

A pulse.

Her body felt too warm, but not from the sun. Her skin tingled under her fur, every brush of air a whisper against her senses. She blinked and sat up, her breath catching in her throat when her own scent hit her.

Not just sweat. Not just earth.

Something deeper. Richer. Wild.

The lionesses nearby shifted in their sleep, one sneezing softly. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss. But Nyira's tail curled in tight unease.

She stood.

Her muscles ached, not from pain but from a kind of… awareness. A pressure that built low in her belly, urging her to move. To walk. To find something. Or someone.

She shook her head, claws scraping the dry rock under her paws. She paced slowly away from the resting pride, down toward the savanna's golden edge.

Her first heat.

She had never gone through it before—not fully. Not among others. Rogue life had meant constant moving, constant survival. No time to stop. No safety to give in.

Now, her body had decided it was time. And it wasn't asking permission.

Far off, zebras called and moved in shifting lines. Nyira watched them, but her gaze was unfocused. Her tail lashed as heat pulsed through her spine, making her fur bristle slightly with each throb. Her ears flattened.

She was vulnerable.

She hated that. Her claws flexed in the dirt. 

A sound behind her. Zuribra's scent reached her first—stronger this time, like he had run.

Zuribra.

Of course it was.

His presence came before his steps—strong, earthy, unmistakable. Nyira didn't turn, but her body reacted anyway, a low shiver crawling along her back as her scent thickened in the air.

Zuribra slowed as he approached, steps quiet but deliberate. She heard his breath catch.

She could smell him too. The shift in his scent.

"You feel it," she said.

It wasn't a question.

Zuribra didn't answer right away. He stopped just behind her, close enough to feel his heat ripple against hers.

"I do."

Nyira turned her head slightly. Their eyes locked. His were still green, but darker now, clouded.

He stepped closer. Close enough that his mane brushed her shoulder.

"You should stay near the pride," he murmured. "It's not safe to wander far. Especially now."

"You think I don't know that?" she said, sharper than she meant to. Her voice was too breathy, too alive. "I know what this is."

Zuribra's jaw flexed. "I know you do. That's why I'm here."

They stood like that—tense, unmoving, breathing in each other's scent.

Nyira felt like her skin didn't fit. Like her body was pulling her in two directions—forward and back. Toward him and away. Instincts clashed with memory, with caution, with pride.

She turned away, padding slowly into the high grass. "Don't follow me."

But he did.

By midday, the pride noticed.

One lioness gave Nyira a longer look than usual, then nosed her gently as she passed. Not unfriendly. Just aware. Another flicked her tail with mild irritation, as though already expecting trouble.

When Nyira laid down, her body refused to rest. Her mind spun. Her scent lingered in the air like smoke.

Zuribra stayed near—but never too close. Watching. Breathing.

Nyira bit the inside of her cheek.

She wasn't ready.

And yet—she could feel the lioness in her rising.

That night, the moon rose red over the savanna. Nyira stood at the edge of the rocks, watching it climb, her muscles tight and breath shallow.

Behind her, Zuribra stepped out from the shadows.

"You're still fighting it," he said softly.

She didn't answer.

He came closer, then stopped.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Nyira turned to look at him, eyes dark and uncertain. "I don't know what I want."

Zuribra's voice dropped. "Then I'll stay here. Just here."

He laid down a few tail-lengths away. Quiet. Still.

They sat like that for hours—close, but not touching. Words unspoken, heat like fire in their blood.

And from the tall grass beyond, unseen, something else watched.

Amber eyes. Silent. Waiting

The air cooled as night settled, but the warmth inside Nyira hadn't faded. If anything, the night seemed to intensify it. Every sound, every movement in the shadows felt sharpened, pressing against her already frayed instincts.

Zuribra had stayed where he said he would—watchful, quiet. A steady presence.

Too steady.

She could feel him holding back. Like a rock holding back floodwater.

Nyira stood and stretched, trying to shake the heat from her limbs. Her tail twitched. Her fur clung to her sides. The scent of her own body—it was driving her mad. And him, too, if the way his eyes kept flicking toward her said anything.

"You should get some rest," he said, finally.

She huffed. "I don't think that's going to happen."

Zuribra rose, his mane catching bits of moonlight. "I'm heading out for a short patrol. Just around the eastern side."

Nyira blinked. "Alone?"

He nodded. "The air's wrong. I caught a strange scent earlier near the termite mounds. Might be hyenas. I won't be long."

A flicker of concern moved through her, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. "Fine. Go growl at shadows if it makes you feel better."

Zuribra smirked faintly and turned, his large form slipping into the darkness with practiced silence.

The moment he was gone, the night felt... thinner.

Vulnerable.

Nyira exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the stars above. But her body was restless, crawling with heat and unease. She stood again and padded toward the edge of the rocks where the land dipped into long grass.

The wind shifted.

And her heart stilled.

Something moved.

She froze—ears twitching. A silhouette in the tall grass. Brief. Still.

A lion?

No. Yes?

She narrowed her eyes, but the form had already vanished, melting into the reeds like smoke. The only thing she remembered clearly were the eyes.

Amber.

Not Zuribra's green.

Her breath hitched.

Kova.

The lion from earlier. The one who interrupted her hunt. His scent had been strange, older. Familiar, but not. Like the wild plum but also something else, a wild lion with storm in his fur.

Unsettling.

Nyira turned back, fur bristling now for a different reason. The pride was still resting, distant behind her. Zuribra was gone. And she was—

Alone.

Her heat made her vulnerable. But it wasn't just the instincts that scared her anymore. It was the fact that something—someone—was watching her again.

From the dark.

Waiting.