3

Blaine

"Professor, please. Have mercy!"

Screams fill my ears as I lash the student again with a whip.

When did I become so detached from my humanity?

A question that so frequently rises inside of me every time I have a student down in my basement lately. Perhaps the more important question is, do I even have any humanity left anymore?

The infliction of pain no longer gives me the same satisfaction it used to give me. In fact, this has almost become boring as I watch the welts appear on his back.

The depravity inside of me is becoming more impossible to quench with each day that passes. It's because there's a beast that lives within me that has an appetite for more heinous acts. For blood. I swallow hard and lash him for the last time, my heart keeping a steady, unaffected rhythm. There was a time when this kind of torture used to excite me, but it appears I've surpassed such rudimentary delights.

The boy slumps in the chains as I set down the whip.

"You are free to go." I walk toward him and unclasp the chains, thrusting his shirt into his hands. "I hope you learned your lesson."

The boy, whose name I can't even remember, shakes like a leaf as he grabs his shirt and flees the basement.

That's right, kid, run from the monster before he tears you apart.

The sick things I'd have liked to do to him are almost unspeakable in most people's books. I run a hand across the back of my neck and turn toward the wall where I keep my implements, the thirst for blood almost impossible to ignore as my gut coils and my mind fills with bloody visions. The one rule Oak gave me for punishing students was to never make them bleed. It's a rule that's becoming harder and harder to follow with each passing day.

The bell chimes in the distance, warning me it's time for me to take my senior anatomy class. I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth. There's one girl in that class who has been impossible to ignore ever since that fated night at the bar before winter break.

A night where I let my guard down and got sucked into the moment. I said things I never should have said to a pupil. And now, it's as if she's taunting me to take things further with the dirty looks she gives me in class.

Azira Sidorov.

The beautiful, curvy Italian girl who can't stop making eyes at me. I was too forward with her at the bar when we stumbled upon those rule breakers and now I fear I've only opened a can of worms. She wants me, that I'm sure of. The question is, does she have any idea what that means?

Most of the students here aren't strangers to my sadistic ways.

If she knew what was good for her, she'd never fucking look at me again. And yet, since the news dropped about Oak's rather non-traditional wedding to a student, Azira has been looking at me more than ever. Perhaps she believes there's some kind of possibility for us to have a similar relationship, but what she doesn't realize is I'm nothing like Oak.

I don't do relationships. I'm not like other people.

Clenching my fist, I turn away from my wall of implements and force myself to leave the basement below my classroom. The door to the classroom is left ajar, no doubt by the kid who I just punished.

I allow myself to peer through the crack toward her seat, groaning when I see she's already there, eagerly awaiting my arrival.

The one and only time Azira wound up at the wrong end of my whip opened her eyes to questionable things about herself. To my disappointment, she never made her way to my office again, even after those fuckers broke the rules and went to the bar where we caught them.

Oak gave them collective detention, clearing the old ruins of weeds and debris. Despite my instance that they needed a harsher punishment. I clench my fists by my side, knowing the main reason it disappointed me was because I didn't get to punish Miss Sidorov.

I clear my throat and then walk into the classroom, letting my gaze move freely across the room. Even though there's a clawing need to zero in on Azira, ever since our conversation took a more sexual turn the night at the bar.

I've never been interested in students, unlike Archer. He can't keep his fucking cock in his pants around the hot eighteen-year-old girls, but they've always been too immature for me and my dark tastes.

However, Azira is an exception, and I know why. I know what makes her tick. Those masochistic tendencies she tries desperately to bury ever since I uncovered them in my office three years ago.

I allow myself to glance at her and find she's staring right back at me with those honey brown eyes of hers. Heat coils through my body as I break eye contact and open my briefcase, getting out the senior year anatomy text book.

"All of you, turn to chapter thirteen." I flip open the book to the correct page. "Today we're going to be studying the best poisons to use and what organs they affect." I glance up, finding Azira staring at me, rather than her book, which is still closed.

"Miss Sidorov, are you deaf?" I snap.

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. "Sorry, sir. What was the page?"

I clench my jaw, wanting nothing more than to drag her into the basement and show her what she needs to know about me. The memory of her when she was fifteen years old rubbing her thighs together while I inflicted pain slams into me and I shake my head, knowing that the next time I get Sidorov into that kind of position, I'm not sure I'd be able to resist taking it too far.