Page 15 of The Alien's Private Redemption

Angela settled back against the wall next to her bed and closed her eyes. Her legs were crossed in front of her and her hands relaxed on her thighs. While she focused on the white noise from the air conditioner and how air moved the fine hairs on her arms, she felt her breathing take on a familiar rhythm. She needed the moment to recover from her encounter with Zoric.

It was the most amazing thing she'd ever experienced. Their conversation flowed naturally between spoken words and half-formed thoughts, neither of them quite sure where one ended and the other began. It should have been invasive, but instead felt like recovering a sense she hadn't known was missing. Each time their minds touched, warmth bloomed in her chest and spread through her limbs like sunshine breaking through clouds.

And the pleasure she'd felt when she stroked her hand down his tail...

The memory of that fleeting touch sent an echo of pleasure through her body. Heat blossomed in her core and she reveled in it as it moved up her spine to her chest and the tips of her ears. The memory of his voice, the way his mind brushed against hers, and the warmth he'd wrapped around her, let her slip into her mind to live them again.

While she relaxed into her memories, she reached out for him, following a path through her mind that hadn't been there a few days ago. She couldn't exactly see through his eyes but she knew he could feel her, and a deep sense of satisfaction flowed through her. That it might have originated with Zoric should have concerned her, but it didn't.

Nothing in her life had felt this natural.

Vague memories from her childhood flitted around the edges of her mind but she couldn't catch them enough to identify anything more than the feeling of safety. And even those didn't match her Bond with Zoric.

Her meditation was interrupted by the sound of the cellblock door opening. The smell of her food tray set her stomach rumbling and Angela was on her feet by the time the guard reached her. She was relaxed and smiled at him when he set the tray in the slot.

"Thank you," she said, and took it from him.

The guard paused and she realized it was the first time she'd ever said anything to him. Usually, she was standing at attention when he arrived, and nodded when she took the tray. Nobody but the doctors had actually interacted with her beyond giving terse directions, and waiting for her to do what she was told.

With a nod, the guard left, but his gait wasn't as stiff as it was when he'd arrived.

What else hadn't she done since she'd arrived? Interacting with other humans had always been difficult for her, though that had become easier when she'd gotten to boot camp. Gettingassigned to a diplomatic detail didn't happen for people who couldn't behave appropriately.

She didn't think she'd smiled since the day her life went to hell. And certainly never at the guards. Had that been the right thing to do? Or would she have been better off trying to make friends? Since the moment of her arrest, Angela had been waiting for the death sentence, certain she'd deserved it. Now, she thought she might have the opportunity to live.

Her first bite of food exploded across her tongue and she almost moaned in pleasure. Had peanut butter and jelly always tasted this good? Or did her Bond with Zoric have something to do with her enjoying it so much? Since when could she smell a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from across the room?

She didn't have much time to contemplate what other things would be enhanced by her bond with Zoric. If she'd ever questioned if there was someone watching her, the timing of the guard coming back dispelled those questions. She hadn't swallowed her last bite when the cellblock door opened again.

This time, it wasn't just the guard, it was someone dressed in a white labcoat, with a badge on the pocket. It looked like the kind of badge that should have had a name and picture on it, maybe with a title and a facility name but it was turned around so the only thing she could see was the laminated white card.

The temperature in the cell seemed to drop as he approached. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that curled above his ears and to either side of his forehead. A hint of grey at his temples indicated he might not have been as young as his face suggested but he moved with a grace she didn't see often. His charcoal grey slacks would have been a match for Dr. Phillips but for the hint of a blue pinstripe that matched the blue button up he was wearing.

When he moved, she realized she could smell the guards aftershave and deodorant but not his. He must have gotten thememo about not wearing strong scents. In fact, if she wasn't looking at him, she wouldn't have smelled him at all. A hint of dirt came from the sole of his shoes but there wasn't anything else. Angela didn't like it and couldn't say why. Even the most careful person carried some scent - soap, laundry detergent, the natural oils of their skin. His complete lack of human smell made her hackles rise.

The guard took her tray and nodded to the doctor.

Angela watched them warily as the guard left and the doctor pulled Zoric's stool over. The grating of the legs along the concrete floor irritated her, and Angela watched with her arms folded over her chest while the doctor made himself comfortable. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making his features sharper, more predatory.

"Hello, Private McBride," the doctor said with a smile that made her grit her teeth. His voice was melodic, almost hypnotic, and entirely wrong for the setting.

"I can't read your name tag," Angela told him. Something about the doctor set her teeth on edge and she found herself reaching out for Zoric. Whether she wanted comfort, acknowledgement, or backup, she didn't know.

Zoric acknowledged her without question and her hackles relaxed.

"I'm Dr. Torres," the man said, though he didn't make a move to fix his name tag. "Would you be willing to answer some questions?"

Angela studied him with a frown. "Why are you here? This isn't the interrogation room."

"And this isn't an interrogation," Dr. Torres responded. "In fact, I've been told that I'm not allowed to interrogate you the way I'd like so I'm just going to ask you a few questions, if that's acceptable?"

"What kinds of questions?" She didn't trust him and he seemed to be amused by that.

"I'm a neurologist," he started. "And there are some anomalies in your MRI from yesterday that I was hoping you could explain for me."

Panic shot through her for a quick moment, faster than the doctor should have been able to register, but Zoric reached out to help her calm down. She felt his desire to hug her and it kindled something warm inside.

"I'm not a doctor," Angela explained slowly. "I don't think I can tell you anything about an MRI. That seems to be the kind of thing you'd want to ask another doctor about."

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