Rosalyn and the Secret of the Bluebloods

Chapter Seven

In the palm of her hand, Mrs. Keys holds an black, velvet box. She runs her fingers over it delicately, revealing a dark, obsidian ring inside.
"It was my dad's wedding gift to her," Damien whispers. "She couldn't bear to wear it after he died."
  She speaks while Damien translates, and with each word he utters, my heart sinks further and further into a never-ending abyss.
  "I know you need this, son, but it's all I have left of your father. The only way I'll give it to you" — she sighs, steeling herself— "is if once you finish the serum, you'll return to Alexandria and live with me . . .indefinitely."
  Damien squeezes my hand so roughly I fear he's going to break it.
  "You have to do it," I whisper, wincing as I grab his arm with my other hand.
  At those words, he releases me suddenly, as if I'm a fire poker he can't bear to touch anymore. A muscle feathers in his jaw and his fists curl into white-knuckled balls. As type A's, we both know there's only one option, and I hate myself for even asking him to choose it. To give up everything for it. And as he leans forward, sadness and pity roil in my gut. Trembling, he takes the demonic object dangling from his mother's fingers.
  "Done," he hisses, and slides the obsidian onto his ring finger with brutal force.
  Furiously, he grabs me again by the wrist and forces me out the front door, leaving dark red marks on my arm.
  "Hey!" I shout angrily as I stumble across the overgrown lawn. "Let me go, you — !"
  He suddenly whirls around and crashes into me, pinning me against the lamppost. I gasp in shock at the impact, the hot metal burning my spine. For a moment, Damien just stares daggers at me, his face inches from mine, blood boiling, body shaking. A bead of sweat runs swiftly over the pulsing vein in his temple.
  Fearfully, I stare at him, completely paralyzed against his strength. Heat radiates off him in waves, and I close my eyes in a silent plea. We stay like this for several seconds, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the heartbeat throbbing in my ears. Then, without warning — the death grip on my wrist relaxes. I crack open my eyes tentatively, just in time to see Damien's roll back into his head, and he collapses in a devastated heap on the cobblestone.
  My hands fly to my mouth.
  "Damien!" I scream, falling to the ground beside him. Frantically, I check his wrist for a pulse, finding only a faint thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump —
  In an instant, I'm inside his house, grabbing his untouched water and pulling his mother behind me. I'm dragging him into the shadow of the chimney as she forces water down his throat. I'm crying as she prays to whatever gods might be out there. It's the devil's ring, it's the devil's ring. . .
  And with that thought, Damien's eyes jerk open, and then he's coughing, breathing, living again — my arms are around him and I'm helping him inside — I'm taking off his clothes, forcing his head under the freezing shower's — and then I'm leading him to bed, laying down next to him and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.
~
  I wake up a few hours later cuddled against something warm and muscular and, mortified, realize it's Damien's bare chest. So, naturally, I pretend to be asleep for a few moments longer, and with slitted eyes, take in his reflection in the mirror across the room.
  He's watching me sleep.
  Suddenly wide awake, I jerk upright and prop myself against the wall across from him, crossing my arms suspiciously.
  "Before you say anything," he begins hoarsely, "I'm so, so sorry Rosalyn, I — I don't know what came over me."
I mull his apology over, trying to keep my eyes on his face and not his glowing, sculpted chest with rays of sunlight strewn across it —
  "You were dehydrated," I blurt, forcing my gaze away. "It's just another reminder that we need to succeed. And I . . .forgive you for it."
  His eyes widen in surprise, widen even more when they spot the marks on my wrist.
  "Oh my God," he whispers, aghast. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. . ."
  He runs his fingers through his hair, distraught.
  "No," he breathes, every inch of his face pained. "I hurt you. I hurt you bad, Rosalyn, and I'll never forgive myself for it."
  His voice catches in his throat like he's on the brink of crying, and my gut twinges guiltily.
  But at that moment, a knock sounds softly on the bedroom door.
  "Mashná," Damien manages, tugging on a navy blue shirt.
  His mother enters hesitantly, but after seeing the expression on her son's face, rushes to his side and begins speaking rapidly. He waves her away.
  "I'm fine," he says unconvincingly, avoiding her eyes. "See?"
  He raises the glass from yesterday to his lips and takes several long gulps. The ring glints menacingly on his finger as he swallows. With a victory toast, he sets the water back down on the bedside table and Mrs. Keys sighs in defeat, giving us both a kiss on the forehead before leaving the room. The door shuts with a soft click.
  "Ever since my dad died," Damien says suddenly, "I've been all she has." He looks down at the ring, as if lost in thought.
  "My mother passed away a few years ago," I admit quietly. Damien looks up in surprise.
  "These used to belong to her," I continue, touching the pearls around my neck. "I wear them as a reminder of our good days . . .not as a reminder of the bad ones." I swallow.
  "I know you're not on the best terms with your mom right now," I say, gesturing at the door, "and I know it's not the same, but if my mom asked me to live with her . . .it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, you know?"
  My throat is suddenly tight and I'm briefly unable to go on. Sensing this, Damien takes hold of my hand ever so gently, as if I'm a glass vase that one wrong move will break. Taking courage in the warmth of his palm, I steel myself to continue.
  "And now my dad is sick too," I blurt, "and being successful at Clean Water Industries is the only way to afford the meds to save him."
  I take a deep breath, knowing I shouldn't tell him everything, but I'm already in too deep to go back.
  "My sister disappeared on her Blood Day two years ago."
  Damien's face creases in confusion.
  "What happened?"
  "I don't know, but I'm sure as hell going to find out," I murmur, clutching his hand tightly, and remember the moment Haleigh told me of her and my mother's friendship. Remember how my father hid it from me, and how the scientists are seeking Bluebloods.
  "There's something strange going on at Clean Water Industries," I whisper, as if Haleigh's standing just outside the room.
  "Something strange?" Damien asks worriedly.
  "I won't say any more than that," I say firmly, releasing his hand. "You believe me, don't you?"
  He thinks for a moment. "I don't know what to believe," he says quietly. "But, if you want to save your dad. . ."
  His voice lowers darkly. "I suggest you keep your head down."