RUIN ME, PROFESSOR HYDE

Two

Elara pov

Over the next two weeks, I learned three things about Professor Hyde.

First: he was brilliant. His lectures were electric, his insights sharp enough to draw blood. He knew every text, every author, every secret history. Listening to him was like watching a blade sharpen itself.

Second: he was feared. Other professors spoke of him in hushed tones. Students warned each other not to cross him. There were rumors—dark ones, about students who'd disappeared, about nights he spent in the woods behind campus, about the way his eyes sometimes caught the light wrong.

Third: he was obsessed with me.

Not in a way anyone else would notice. But I noticed.

I noticed the way his breath would catch when I walked into the room. The way he'd find excuses to stand near my desk. The way his hand would brush mine when he returned my essays—lingering just a moment too long, his skin warm and rough and electric.

I told myself it was nothing. I told myself I was projecting. I told myself that a forty-year-old professor with a scarred eyebrow and a reputation had no reason to be interested in an eighteen-year-old scholarship kid with dark circles and secondhand clothes.

But my body didn't listen to reason.

Every time he looked at me, my skin flushed. Every time he said Miss Vance, my thighs pressed together. I'd lie in bed at night, my hand between my legs, imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on me. To have that voice whispering in my ear.

It was wrong. It was dangerous. It was forbidden.

And I wanted it anyway.

---

The day everything changed started like any other.

I was sitting in the dining hall, picking at a sad salad, when Liam Chen slid into the seat across from me.

Liam was in my biology class. He was cute in an obvious way—wide smile, easy laugh, the kind of boy my mother would have approved of. He'd been trying to get my attention for weeks.

"Elara, right?" He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What?"

"Go to the Fall Festival with me. This weekend. There's a bonfire, music, the whole thing." His smile widened. "It'll be fun. I promise."

I opened my mouth to say no. I wasn't interested in dating. I wasn't interested in any of this. I had a scholarship to protect, a mother to make proud, and a professor who'd been living in my head rent-free for weeks.

But before I could answer, the air changed.

The temperature dropped. The light shifted. And a shadow fell over our table.

"Miss Vance."

My spine went rigid.

Professor Hyde stood behind Liam, his expression carved from stone. He wasn't looking at Liam. He was looking at me—and his eyes were wrong. Darker than usual. Almost golden around the edges.

"Professor," I managed. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly." His gaze swept to Liam, cold and dismissive. "Mr. Chen. Don't you have a lab report due?"

Liam's face went pale. "It's not due until—"

"Now," Professor Hyde said. "It's due now."

Liam looked at me, then at the professor, then back at me. Something clicked behind his eyes—fear, maybe, or understanding. He stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.

"Sorry, Elara. Rain check?" He didn't wait for an answer. He just walked away, his shoulders hunched.

The dining hall felt suddenly empty.

Professor Hyde sat down in Liam's vacated chair. He was too close now—close enough that I could smell him. Cedar. Smoke. Something wild and warm that made my head spin.

"You shouldn't go to the Fall Festival with him," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because he's not good enough for you."

My heart stuttered. "You don't know me well enough to decide who's good enough for me."

"I know you better than you think, Elara." His voice dropped. "I know you lie awake at night. I know you don't sleep more than four hours. I know you eat alone because you're too proud to ask anyone to sit with you."

My throat tightened. "How—"

"I notice things." He leaned closer. "About you. I notice everything."

The air between us was thick, heavy, suffocating. I could see the pulse in his throat, see the way his chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were golden. Bright and burning and completely inhuman.

"Your eyes," I whispered.

He blinked, and just like that, they were brown again. "What about my eyes?"

"Nothing." I looked away, my heart racing. "I need to go. I have class—"

"Elara." His hand caught my wrist. Not hard—just enough to stop me. His skin was hot. Too hot. "Don't go to that festival with him."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I pulled my hand back, but he didn't let go. "Sit in my dorm alone? Read Gothic novels and pretend I don't notice you watching me?"

His jaw tightened. "You notice."

"Everyone notices, Professor. You're not subtle."

Something dark and dangerous crossed his face. "Then you know why I'm asking you not to go with him."

"I don't know anything." I finally yanked my hand free. "I don't know why you look at me like that. I don't know why you care. I don't know anything about you except that you're my professor and you're twenty-two years older than me and this—" I gestured between us, "—is completely inappropriate."

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he stood up. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. Now." He held out his hand. "Unless you're scared."

I should have said no. I should have walked away. I should have done literally anything except take his hand.

I took his hand.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and strong, and he pulled me out of the dining hall. Past the quad. Past the library. Past the edge of campus, where the trees grew thick and the lights stopped and the world went dark.

"Where are we going?" I asked, breathless.

"Somewhere private."

"Professor—"

"Aldric," he corrected. "When we're alone, call me Aldric."

We walked deeper into the woods. The moon was rising—a sliver of silver through the branches. The air smelled like earth and leaves and him, that wild, intoxicating scent that made my skin prickle.

He stopped in a small clearing. Ancient trees ringed the open space, their branches forming a canopy overhead. Moonlight filtered through like liquid silver.

He let go of my hand and turned to face me.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said. "In the dining hall. I shouldn't have—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I don't know what comes over me when I'm near you."

"Jealousy?" I suggested. "Possessiveness?"

"Yes." He didn't deny it. "All of the above. And more."

"More like what?"

He took a step toward me. Then another. His eyes were golden again—there was no mistaking it now. They glowed in the moonlight, bright and feral and beautiful.

"Like this," he said.

And he kissed me.