He woke suddenly and immediately regretted it. His head pounded and the bright lights assailed his weak eyes. He was in some sort of hospital. The infirmary. He tried to remember who had put him here this time. His eyes roamed around the familiar walls. He practically spent more time in this place than in his room. His eyes closed.

Shouting, there had been a lot of shouting. Had he been shouting? It wasn’t impossible, it was very likely in fact. Who would he shout at? His brow furrowed, it was so hard to remember. His new master had come while Shollie was still there. He chewed on his lip. What had he done this time?

He was quickly shook out of his memory lapse as a nurse walked into the room, her sharp heels clicking across the floor. He opened his eyes to see who it was. Lalona, a slender redhead who often cared for him, stepped into view. She smiled gently, her crimson lips twitching slightly. The smile was forced.

“What happened?” He croaked out.

She frowned. “Don’t you remember?”

“No.” He bit off sharply. Why would he have asked otherwise?

She held a small flashlight up to his eyes and looked into them. “What’s your name?”

He scowled now, distorting his face but marring none of his beauty. “What the hell is this?”

“Just procedure. If you don’t remember why you’re here, you may have forgotten other things as well.” She paused and sighed. “So, what is your name?”

A low growl escaped him. He’d never had to do this before. “Wi... Taronnie.” He nearly choked as the name -they- gave him came unbidden to his lips.

“And my name?”

“Lalona.”

“Where are we now?”

He replied sulkily. “In the infirmary. These questions are pointless.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing comes to mind?”

“Just a lot of yelling. And Shollie.” He frowned suddenly. “Is he all right?” He asked with more concern than he had intended.

“He needed some stitches and was weak from blood loss because he wouldn’t come out of the bathroom but other than that, he’s fine.”

Stitches? Why would Angel need stitches? Taronnie frowned and fingered the silken, blue ends of his hair. And then, all of a sudden, it came back to him. His master had -hit- Shollie, in the face no less. And then he’d screamed at him. He’d been furious and the man had motioned to do it again. Satisfied now, he looked up at pretty nurse.

“He hit Shollie.”

Lalona pursed her lips. “Who hit the White Angel Key?”

Taronnie’s voice was venomous. “Who else? My so-called ‘Master’. How bad is he?”

Her frown deepened. “You put him into a coma, Wind.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly. “Did I? Hn, that bastard deserved it.”

“I won’t deny that, but you aren’t allowed to harm your Masters, Wind. And this is the seventh one you’ve -visibly- injured.” She emphasized the words. “The fourth that has needed to go to a hospital.”

He sighed, though only for effect. “What are they going to do with me?”

“Nothing.” She said quietly, almost sadly. “The price has gone up again, but you are still here.”

“What the hell is this?” He burst out angrily. “What gives them the fucking right to treat me like a fucking slave?”

“Nothing, but here you are none the less. It’s really not so bad.” She murmured, a light breeze to his thundering gale.

“Not so bad?!” He screamed and then winced in pain. The fight taken out of him by his bruised and likely fractured ribs.

“Wind, please be reasonable. This is very lenient considering your past behavior.” Lalona clucked her tongue. “You are marked submissive, yet you never submit. None of your training has helped.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I am a kept whore?”

She winced slightly at his bluntness. “Perhaps.”

“Hn. Can I leave now?”

“I suppose so, though I wouldn’t recommend it yet. Not that you ever listen to me anyway...” She watched him go, an air of defeat about her. That one was not meant for this life. He had too much pride.

Taronnie frowned once in the hall. It was peculiar that he was never escorted back to his room. And stranger still that he had never tried to escape. Perhaps it was a matter of honor, though he could not imagine what place honor had among these thieves and kidnappers. He returned to his room exhausted. The few flights of stairs he’d needed to walk up had winded him more than usual. He sagged heavily against the door and it pushed open, it was unlocked, likely in expectation for his return. He continued the walk through his spacious quarters to the living room and sank into a deep armchair.