humiliated him. He had failed when it had mattered most and he determined he would never look at another lioness as long as he lived. He felt certain that would not be very long if his father caught him. He had seriously thought he might have loved Llasani, now it was evident that she just thought him no more than a fool. He vowed never to look at her again and to make sure no one else could.

In his confused pain, Nengwalamwe ran blindly. He had no idea for how long, nor where he was or where he was going and he didn’t care. He fretted: cussing and cursing every living thing he encountered. Why should they have been happy when his world had fallen apart completely? He wandered on and on into the evening. As night fell he found himself growing tired as the effort of maintaining his anger drained him. He soon gave in to his fast growing tiredness and lay down to sleep alone in the shelter and seclusion of an acacia thicket. The hours drew on and he dreamt uneasily about a great herd of prey standing round him, staring at him, boring into him with their eyes. Running, running, running with hyenas at his back but he couldn’t run clear for dread fear of the baying hunting dog pack ahead, standing proudly, defiantly facing him.

Later he dreamed himself with Llasani again, this time he didn’t hate her and she didn’t tease him, it was just as he had often imagined he’d be with her. She looked invitingly into his eyes and turned from him. Her breath became heavy and strained as she pressed herself down to the ground, offering herself to him. Her heat and scent mingled in him and drew him forward as he crouched over her. She made no sound as his embarrassment melted into her as she pushed back gently and completed their union. In her he felt like the lion he was sure he had become, while she felt all the lion cub he was. They were together until the passion flooded from him and pushed her into exquisite voice.

He felt her neck with his teeth, gripping the folds of her scruff by which she had been carried as a cub. He roared his triumph gently and stood up, not to her laughter but to her purrs as she rolled on to her back to enjoy the heat of his body on her belly.

“Those are the sort of games we can play,” she said softly in his dream. He laid down beside her and let the blanket of sleep descend on him, alone again.

He woke a few hours later, the moon had set and the first steely glow of dawn was just pushing away the coldness of the night. He was not cold. He felt warmth beside him, a strong fur covered warmth that reminded him of his mother; soft, enveloping and protecting. He opened his eyes, not at all sure what this warmth could be. It moved and looked back at him sleepily. It yawned loudly and turned over, pressing its belly to his back saying, “Again, please. Do it again Nengwe. I enjoy that game more than any other.”

‘Again?’ he thought in alarm. ‘AGAIN? What game?’ He shouted in near panic at the contented lioness lying beside him, “What game? WHAT GAME?”

Her rump bent the tips of his whiskers. Then he noticed the mingled scents of his passion and her contentment on her hindquarters. He drew it in and knew what it meant. He slumped down heavily and began to cry like a two-week-old cub.

“What are you crying for? That was nothing to cry about.” Llasani smiled broadly as a similar agglomeration of scents wafted up from his thighs. She seemed to be a very happy lioness who was just about ready to become even happier. She looked at Nengwalamwe pleadingly with soft, glowing eyes.

“NO! Your father will kill me.” Nengwalamwe paused as his panic rose. He had no idea what to do. The scents filled the still air all around him. “No, my father – he’ll kill me first. Llasani what have I done?”

“You mean you don’t know? Come here Nengwe; my dear Nengwe; and let me lead you through it again.” She looked up at him with eyes that melted his panic but which lead him further astray. He knew what he had done, yet he could hardly remember, he was so tired and confused. “Come, stand close behind me.” The pull of her scent was all-powerful, too powerful for a lion barely out of cubhood such as Nengwalamwe. He felt himself drawn to her. He felt himself prepare for her. He felt himself do all those things he had dreamed about and afterwards he stood over her back and felt his life ebbing away with his preparedness. It was over quickly and he felt strangely distant towards this vision of sensuality. He didn’t feel as though he had any need to spend the rest of his life with her.

As he stood looking down at her back, he knew that she had led him on to what could result in his death. He realised that he had just stolen a few pleasant moments. All he had left were blurred memories and aching muscles in his hind legs. Indeed, as she rolled over, her hind claws raking unthinkingly over his nose, exposing her almost white under-fur, he began to wonder just what he had seen in Llasani. Certainly she had her charms, he supposed he now knew rather more about those than any other lion, but she was nothing more than any other lioness. She was alluring, pleasant and responsive to his attention but little else.

Something else began to trouble him more and more as the hormones of lust subsided in him. He was in trouble: big, deep, deadly trouble. Here he was standing over his cousin whom, probably within sight of his home pride, he had just mated. If his father were to hear of it then Nengwalamwe, regardless of being his son, would die; that was certain. If her father were to find out then Nengwalamwe would also die. That too was certain and he would surely find out when the roundness that heralded his cubs began to appear in Llasani’s sides and belly. Surely his father, Nengwala, would have known about Llasani’s heat? Wouldn’t he have taken steps to satisfy her needs? He had often talked of how he had fought and killed other males who tried to take advantage of his lionesses. He was proud to be able to say that he, or at least his brother, was the sure father of every cub born in the pride. That was a boast few lions could make with any degree of certainty. There had been much blood spilled to make that boast true. Here was Nengwala’s own eldest son taking advantage of one of his very own, very special, very accommodating, very demanding, very hot and very willing lionesses.

“Are you going to stand there all morning? Or are you going to show me just how much you really like me?” Llasani had risen to her paws and now padded over to stand beside him. She brushed her head against his neck forcefully, rubbing her scent into his mane to mark him as her mate.

“No, no, we mustn’t. We must stop this now. Get away Llasani.” He feared her touch, he feared what she could make him do, he feared where it must lead. “Please! We must stop now, perhaps there’s still time to...” but he stopped as he could not work out what there might be time for. She wove herself around him, brushing up against him repeatedly. Her readiness was all too apparent. He turned his head away each time she tried to look deep into his eyes. He felt a powerful urge to lash out at her but he held back, knowing that he would not be able to explain away any injuries he might give her. He could do nothing but plead to her. “Stop this… you know what’ll happen to me.”

“So why fight it? If you’re really going to die, why not die with a smile? Come on, you know you liked it. You know you loved it - I did. You were more than I could have ever imagined a lion could be; so, so much more.”

***

Nengwalamwe had always struck Llasani as an interesting lion; rather young and with a somewhat ‘little brotherly’ manner about him, just right for teasing and poking fun at. His mane had made him rather more interesting; still rather young but now with vigour, strength and a lustre of his fur that would become lost as age took its toll. Llasani didn’t quite know what to think of him, but he had certainly smelled good and that had made her task easier. He had performed just as she had expected him to but she suspected she might be asking a little too much of a cub to mount her again so soon and so often. She had heard all the stories of her uncle Nengwala’s great feats with lionesses. After all it would hardly have been worth protecting them if those stories were not true. Certainly her older aunts and sisters were all eager to be with Nengwala when their time came. He though had been busy satisfying another lioness’s demands, and as it was only Llasani’s second heat she had not merited his undivided attention. She did not really feel anything for her father so she had decided to offer herself to the Nengwala’s son: her cousin, little Nengwe. She had wondered if he was quite old enough. His display by the pouncing cubs had demonstrated that he was capable of satisfying her needs and that he was not all that little after all. She hoped his son had inherited some of his father’s prowess.

She had spent much time planning this with her older sister, now carrying her first litter. She had mated late, even going so far as to hide her first season so well that even their mother had not realised her daughter had become a lioness. She had not expected the burden of cubs quite that soon. Llasani however was not thinking of cubs, she was thinking of lions. Her sister’s advice was to not let him get away from her and to make quite sure he knew of her state of season. Llasani had listened attentively. She was now profiting from the advice, indeed she now wanted to increase her