The wind roars around her ears but the loudest sound she heard is the quickened beat of her heart. Perhaps it is the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Perhaps it is the wild gallop down the dune moments ago that caused her breast to rise and fall with rapid succession. Maybe it is a combination of them all. Whatever the true reason, Nyimara is all too aware of the stranger pressed firmly against her side. All too aware of the heat of his breath sending chills coursing through her veins. She tells herself it is the season only. That this time of year when emotions ran high, the primal need to procreate caused her body to burn with desire and lean into his touch. She told herself that she should back away and abandon the shelter to the stranger and yet she cannot separate herself from the beastial desire long enough to bring this thought into action. He felt too damn good.

She wonders what he might taste like, especially now as the winds begin to rapidly die away and the need to press together for survival too disappears. Sunlight filters through the haze of falling sand and air that only moments ago had been chokingly thick begins to dissolve into something remotely breathable again. Small dark ears rotate forwards as she lifts her proud head and blinks the remnants of sand free from her lashes. Slender form is given a shake, ridding herself of as much of the loose sand and dust as possible. The grit embedded in her now dull coat would need to wait until later. He breaks the contact between them and likewise, she too takes a step to the side, bumping Uhtred out of her way so that she can fill her vision with the stranger.’Finally.’

For the first time she sees him. No longer blinded by the storm, her piercing gaze takes in each and every inch of his muscular body. He is not overly tall like her sire nor is he short as herself. Where Bjorn had been thickly built and covered in voluminous curls of hair, the stallion beside her mirrors her own sleek appearance. The dark obsidian of his body is outlined with a rich, dark mahogany color not dissimilar to her own. Hungrily she takes in the sloping arch of his neck and the dull gloss of his sand covered throat that led to a strong narrow jawline. Finally, she finds herself staring back into the same appraising dark eyes that shamelessly roamed over every inch of him.

His graveled words draw a wry smile onto the corners of her lips. ”For someone who just tried to outrun a sandstorm and ended up uninvited in another’s territory…” she begins, pausing to curl her long neck towards him. Dark lashes bat dramatically slow. ”I don’t think luck is the term one might use.” she finishes. Yet luck is the single word that sticks in her mind. There is something about him that went beyond the seasonal need for procreation. The glint in his eyes. The tone of his voice. The tilt of his head. All of him screamed that there was more to him than just a pretty face. Then again, she knew something of pretty faces and none of it had ever worked out well for her in the past. Bjorn’s attention had constantly strayed. He always seemed to find the exact moment her head was turned to disappear into the arms of another. Aranck had been promising, but even the spider king and his fearsome reputation had disappeared all too quickly. Cullen… well, Cullen relied heavily on his reputation as the Boss of the bachelors but even he slunk away into the shadows when his reign was over. No, Nyimara learned that ‘promising’ was not always as cracked up as it seemed.

Small, dark ears press forward amid the tendrils of her silver white mane. Confidently, she takes a step towards him, uncurling her neck to allow her ashen labrums to linger close to his own. ”Who are you?” she murmurs, her voice thick with sultry hunger and sweet honey.