Death’s Angel, the next little snippet.

When the door hissed open, the faint scent of cinnamon on the air betrayed the centurion. Had he come to deliver the punishment he had promised or were they fattening her for food? Then it came; a faint pressing in her mind. Not the open sharing between Angels, but an insidious probe into her thoughts. She fought, trying to think of nothing.
The centurion knew her Angel name because he had picked through her mind. He’d casually violated her privacy. In that moment, she wanted to kill him as badly as she had wanted to kill all those responsible for her son’s death in another lifetime.
“But you aren’t strong enough and won’t be unless you eat.” His deep voice sounded mocking as if he laughed at her.
Azriel rolled over, trying to smother hot waves of pain to glare at him. He sat astride a chair and had his hands on the chair back with his claws extended. He was smiling. His canine teeth were even longer than Nyka’s
“Get out of my head.” Was there no way to stop his intrusion?
“Why? I find your thoughts quite unique and very entertaining.” He rested his chin on his hands, relaxed and still wearing an amused grin. Almost like a man, now his claws were hidden in his fingertips, and yet not. The pointed ears proclaimed him otherwise.
How much does he know? Azriel dropped into mental downtime to hit a wall of darkness. A guffaw forced her into full waking. She couldn’t share with him like an Angel.
“I wonder what it would be worth to your controllers to learn how their Angels communicate in private?”
“You’re dead.” She itched for the strength to attack him. The controllers must never find out.
“That’s my bad Angel.” He unwound his large frame from the chair with infinite grace and thrust the bowl of cold soup in her hands. “This would have been much nicer warm, but that was your choice. And we don’t eat our guests. I have another function in mind for you, apart from breaking my teeth on your skeletal enhancements.”
She started to aim the soup at him, but his stance indicated the beginning of a defensive action.
“Who would be quicker?” Again the undertone of laughter sounded in his voice.
“What do you want?”
He tipped his head to one side, running his eyes over her like a gourmand over a plate of food. “I’ll settle for an active effort from you to regain your health for now. Fight me over this and I’ll send an interesting message to your home world.” He gave a mocking half- bow on his way out, leaving her to fume.

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