The forest smells like sun-warmed pine and the soft, calming rain-scent that always clings to Daisy Lance. Nyssa stops. Turns.Her leopard presses hard against her skin—protective, possessive, fond. “You’re not intruding.” Nyssa’s voice is low, warm. “You’re with me.” She clears her throat, pretending she’s not melting. “Besides,” she adds lightly, “DarkRiver has been very curious to meet the girl who makes me forget to eat.”“Relax,” Nyssa murmurs. “That’s just Mercy. She’s been stalking us for five minutes.” Nyssa adds a second later “You ready to meet the rest of the pack? They won’t bite.”