Mia
Everyone looked at me and then at Daisy.
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again and then closed. Her pale cheeks flamed like the first strike of sunset. The twins drew themselves up, a living barricade whose presence thickened the air. Brynn’s fingers tightened on the hilt of a small blade at his belt; Frynn’s jaw set.
Daisy’s breath became small, precarious.
“What are you talking about?” She said, the practiced arrogance cracking.
“You do not have to tell me,” I said. “But scent betrays what words deny. He is close to you, layered into the fabric of your skin. He is young or he is brash. He has a shield that smells of cologne and petrol. He keeps something at his throat, an amulet or a chain, perhaps, one that makes his scent sharp. He has been mated to you.”
She stepped back a
