Seraphina's Point Of View
The steam from the bathroom didn't just dissipate; it clung to the edges of the doorway, trailing after us like a guilty conscience as Azriel nudged me back into the main bedroom.
My skin felt tight, scrubbed clean, but my face burned at least three degrees hotter than the rest of my body. I couldn't look up. The pattern on the dark hardwood floor had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the entire world - every single knot in the timber, every shadow cast by the heavy drapes. Anything to avoid meeting the eyes of the two men waiting out there. Because they knew. Of course they knew. The walls weren't that thick, and I was certain my gasps had echoed beyond the bathroom tiles.
I kept a death grip on the hem of the oversized, crisp white button-down shirt Azriel had thrown at me, pulling it down as far as it would stretch over my bare thighs. The fabric smelled like him - cedar and something darker, more primal.
