Chapter 43: Above The Law

Chapter 43: Above The Law Clare’s POV: The knock sent a shockwave of pure panic through my body, but Blaze didn’t even flinch. If anything, he looked bored. The professor cleared his throat, his voice laced with discomfort. "Enter." The door swung open, revealing a man I had never seen before—but something about him made my skin crawl. Pale. Too pale. Just like Blaze. His eyes swept the room with sharp precision before landing directly on me. "Clause," he said, his voice smooth yet commanding. "The Vice-Chancellor requests your presence. Now." A cold sweat broke out across my back. I did not like the way he said my name. Blaze, however, didn’t even turn his head. "No." The single word was spoken with such authority that the entire room seemed to hold its breath. The Vice-Chancellor’s face twitched ever so slightly. "This is not a request, Blaze." Blaze finally shifted his attention to him, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. He exhaled slowly, deliberately, before speaking. "And yet, I don’t recall asking for your opinion." A ripple of something unnatural passed through the Vice-Chancellor’s expression—annoyance, maybe even anger—but then, to my absolute shock, he lowered his head in a slight bow. What the actual fuck?! The Vice-Chancellor—the second most powerful person in this goddamn school—just bowed to Blaze. Whispers broke out among the students. The professor, who had been pretending not to notice, suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. The Vice-Chancellor lifted his head, his expression carefully neutral. "Very well. I shall wait until you deem it... appropriate." Then, with one last unreadable glance at me, he turned on his heel and left, the door clicking shut behind him. I sat there, stunned, confused, and absolutely terrified. Just who the hell was Blaze? "I didn’t tell you to stop, pet." Blaze’s voice slithered through the thick silence like a blade against my skin—sharp, cutting, and undeniable. His dark eyes pinned me in place, glinting with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. The knock had shattered the haze he’d lulled me into, snapping me back to cold, hard reality. My heart was still pounding from what had just happened—the Vice-Chancellor bowing to him—but Blaze? Blaze looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just made one of the highest-ranking figures in the school submit to him with a mere word. Like none of it mattered. Like all that mattered was me. And the fact that I’d stopped touching him. His grip tightened around my wrist, dragging my hand back down to the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants. My breath hitched. How? How the fuck could he still be thinking about this right now? Did I mention that the knock had completely cleared the fuzziness? Yeah, well, now I was acutely aware of exactly what I was doing. What he was making me do. And that no one in this damn classroom dared to stop it. I swallowed hard, my fingers instinctively curling away, but Blaze’s hold didn’t allow resistance. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, warning whisper. "I don’t repeat myself, pet. Keep going." I wanted to say no. I wanted to push him away, to stand up, to run. But all I did was nod. My mind drifted—a desperate escape from what my hands were doing—to something that should’ve terrified me even more. Why the hell did the Vice-Chancellor want to see me? What could he possibly want to talk to me about? And more importantly—why did he bow to Blaze? A high-ranking figure, someone with authority over this entire school, had just submitted to him without question. And Blaze, in return, had dismissed him like he was nothing. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t just vampire superiority over humans—this was something else. Something much, much worse. But before I could even begin to process it, Blaze’s grip on my wrist tightened. A silent command. A cruel reminder. I was still touching him. Still stroking him. And no matter how fast my thoughts tried to run, my body wasn’t allowed to stop. "You’re making me bored," he muttered, his voice flat, uninterested. Then, without warning, he ripped my hand away from him and stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. I barely had a second to react before he grabbed my arm again—this time, tighter—and yanked me up from my seat. "Get up. Follow me." It wasn’t a request. I was still sitting there, my body too stunned to move, when he dragged me forward like I weighed nothing. The classroom fell silent. No one dared to breathe. Even the professor kept his head down, pretending he couldn’t see the undead monster hauling me away like I was some petulant child. I barely had time to grab my bag before Blaze yanked me out of the classroom, his grip like iron shackles around my wrist. The moment we stepped into the hallway, the heavy classroom door slammed shut behind us, rattling in its frame like it had been hit by a gust of wind. But there was no wind. Just Blaze. And his suffocating presence. I stumbled trying to keep up, my legs still weak from whatever the hell he did to me back there. My mind was still racing—not just from his touch but from what I had just witnessed. The Vice Chancellor—a man of power, someone who should demand respect from everyone on this damn campus—had bowed to Blaze. Like a servant. Like Blaze was... above him. That shouldn’t be possible. I wanted to ask so many questions, but one look at the way Blaze’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark and dangerous, made me keep my mouth shut. He was in a bad mood. And when Blaze was pissed, bad things happened. "Where the hell are we going?" I finally managed to say, my voice coming out hoarse. He didn’t answer. He just kept walking—fast, purposeful—his fingers digging into my wrist. Then, suddenly—he yanked me through a doorway. The hall. The one no one used. The one with the eerie, rotting silence that felt too aware, too hungry. The first time I was here, I thought he was a ghost. But now, I knew better. He was anything but a ghost. And he was furious. Shit. I should have done a better job with my hands. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation. He dragged me deeper, past the flickering lights that buzzed and sputtered like dying fireflies. The hallway stretched endlessly, twisting into darkness. It was like stepping into a place that didn’t belong in this world—a space between the living and the dead. The walls pressed in, shadows shifting unnaturally in my peripheral vision. Blaze’s domain. That’s what they called it. The place where he fed. Where he drained people dry, leaving only whispers of their existence behind. That was the rumor. And rumors always had a sliver of truth in them. Was this it? Was this where he’d bleed me out for failing to please him? Had I finally pushed the monster past his limits? I swallowed hard. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just kept dragging me down that endless, suffocating corridor. He stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor, one I hadn’t noticed before. Without hesitation, he pushed it open. I stepped inside, heart pounding. The room was unsettlingly clean. Too clean. It looked like it used to be the infirmary—rows of beds neatly arranged, white sheets eerily pristine. The supposed nurse’s office was still intact, the glass window peering out into the dimly lit space. But something was wrong. It didn’t smell like medicine. Didn’t carry the sterile scent of alcohol or antiseptic. Instead, the air was... thick. Heavy. Like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting. Blaze shut the door behind him with a quiet click. "Next time when I tell you not to stop," he said, his voice smooth, dangerous, "you don’t stop." He moved with that same unnatural grace, stepping away from me and lowering himself onto a chair I hadn’t even noticed against the wall. His dark eyes locked onto me, unblinking, filled with something I couldn’t quite place—but it made my skin prickle, made my stomach twist. Then— "Strip." It wasn’t a request. It was an order. And he was watching. Waiting. The air in the room felt suffocating. Stale, heavy—like something unseen was lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching. The walls seemed to close in, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly, casting strange, distorted shadows across the floor. Blaze sat there like a king on his throne, one leg lazily crossed over the other, his fingers drumming against the arm of the chair. Cold. Calculating. Predatory. "Don’t make me wait, pet." His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was an edge to it—a quiet warning beneath the calm. A promise of what would happen if I hesitated. As if he hadn’t just demanded that I strip for him like I was nothing but a plaything. As if this was normal. As if he owned me. He tilted his head slightly, eyes burning into me with something dark and unreadable. "I don’t like you in that man’s disguise," he continued, his lips curling into a smirk, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp, dangerous. "Makes me feel gay—even though we’ve already established you’re very much a woman." The words dripped with amusement, but I could hear the unspoken command laced beneath them. And just like that, the memory of the shower came rushing back. The heat. The loss of control. His hands. His mouth. The way he had made me feel things I wasn’t supposed to feel. I swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt smaller. And Blaze was still watching. Still waiting.