Death Angel. The rest of that last chapter

Azriel roused to crisp air with a faint hint of antiseptic. She was lying on a firm, but not uncomfortable surface, and the pain had receded to a dull ache. The sounds of movement alerted her to the presence of at least two people. An ungentle hand touched her head, feeling over her scalp. Used to rough treatment, she kept her eyes shut and her breathing shallow.
“Easy with her.” The deep tones of the Centurion no longer rumbled with a hint of boredom. Urgency sharpened his voice.
“She killed without provocation or reason. This wasn’t her fight or the side I would expect such as her to choose.” This came from a nearer voice. “She’s dangerous.”
The examination continued. Azriel guessed the Outworlders thought her loss of consciousness due to a blow when she fell. She hoped they didn’t start moving her hair too much, or they would find the filawires woven into strands near the base of her skull. All angels wore their hair long to conceal the makings of garrotes.
“We knew what she was before we agreed to the exchange.” The centurion’s voice came from much closer. “I’d know the reason why the Altarians are scared shitless by their angels. Perhaps you can enlighten us, Azriel? I know you are awake.”
My angel name, known only to other angels. How did he pick through my mind? No. Not again. Never again would another control her. Azriel started her attack maneuver in the same second she opened her eyes, a movement arrested by restraints on her shoulders and hips. Pain flooded her senses for a brief moment, replaced almost instantly by a feeling of euphoria outside of her control.
Azriel stared, mesmerized, into eyes as green as irrigated grass, different from the other Outworlders she had seen face-bare. His pupils were slitted like a feline’s. An emergent black beard shadow darkened his jaw and upper lip, sprouting from much finer scales . . . or skin? He stood a head taller than the other man and carried the presence of controlled strength. Interest flickered in the depths of those strange eyes and he smiled, slow and lazy. This was the sort of man capable of killing and then going on to enjoy a full meal.
“I can bring back the pain as quickly as I took it away.”
The smaller man frowned. “Centurion, androids don’t feel pain. Altarians believe angels are immortal, so this being isn’t a true life form.”
“Shall I remove my control so Cestus can read your body language, Azriel?” He peeled off a black hide glove to run the sharp claw on his forefinger delicately down her cheek, just enough to break the surface.
She didn’t react. Pain might be gone, but sensation remained. Wetness flowed from her midsection. A cool lassitude seeped through her body. Minutes of life remained, bleeding away while the Outworlders argued. Freedom came on gentle wings.
“I can’t find any sign of a contusion. I’d say this wasn’t the result of an interruption to microprocessor function.” Cestus finished his search and stepped back. “Maybe her power pack needs recharging?”
The centurion sighed. “Since Azriel declines to co-operate, I’ll prove my point another way. She isn’t a full android. Transport on line.”
A faint crackle sounded from within the room. Azriel didn’t care. Whatever they did was going to be pointless. Torture would accelerate her journey into oblivion.
A half-smile quirked the centurion’s lips. “Lock on to the non-living layers covering the prone sentient.”
A buzzing enveloped Azriel, the same sensation she’d felt when transported to this ship from the surface. Her weary brain tried to piece together the centurion’s words, and then she found out what he intended. Her clothes, her hidden weapons . . . gone. Cool air whispered over her skin–all of it. Blood ran from the now exposed wound.
“Stars wept!” The centurion lost his smile along with some of his color. “Cestus, do something. I want her alive.”
Cestus grabbed instruments, handfuls of wadding and dumped them on her chest. “Shit. Oh shit. Keep her with us, or I’m wasting my time.”
The slitted pupils in the centurion’s impossible green eyes expanded. Azriel couldn’t look away, couldn’t think beyond breathing in and out. Somewhere things pushed inside her, but none of this mattered. She had to obey the centurion’s orders inside her head. He was in the controller place. Small capillaries exposed to air must be sealed. Yes, she could make her blood clot now that a medic was working to repair the huge injury. She could focus without the pain gnawing at her. Wetness had ceased to flow from her, and something covered the hole in her side.
“Bad Angel.” The centurion wagged a finger at her. “When and not if you recover, we will discuss your negligence in care of my property. Make no mistake; you are mine. You will obey me.”
Cestus’ eyebrows rose. “She needs blood. I don’t have a match for her type. I can only rehydrate her.”
“Then do it.” Again the index claw traveled over Azriel’s cheek. “Did you see the concealed weapons listed by the transporter? We missed them. She is going to sleep until she is fit enough for a suitable chastisement. I wouldn’t want her to forgo a second of what I have planned.”

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