Raziel stands in front of the door, denying Kyden access.
"Take off your clothes here," he says, his voice lyrical, sharp, and cold.
"What?" Kyden echoes, his face blank as shock and dismay course through his veins.
"…Forgive me, but I can't help but practice caution in this situation. It is not only for myself, but it is for your safety as well."
There are so many things wrong with what Raziel is saying. Kyden bats his lashes furiously. He frowns. "…You really want to…strip. Here?" If it could, he'd punch the fucker in the face.
But currently, he's trembling, muscles wound up and taunt. The floor is wooden and creaks beneath his feet when he shifts his weight and he can hear the soft sounds of the wilderness just outside the house's walls. He contemplates making a run for it, even if it might result in his demise. Maybe death would be better than the shame he has to endure.
