Lunar Crest University (Forbidden Fruit)

Prologue

FINLEY

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18TH, 2023

L unar Crest is a quaint little town in northern Maine, encapsulated in yellow, orange, and red from the leaves that speckle the maple trees and cascade across the ground. It resembles autumn year round, with picturesque fall colors and crisp air that lingers well within summer—a cold weather lover’s dream.

September is my preferred month of the year. It’s cool enough for oversized sweaters and those thick, fluffy socks my mom always gets me for Christmas, but not enough to bite at the tip of your nose as you step outside.

I can walk to work and back to my apartment without freezing to death, listening to music at top volume through my headphones as I travel down obsolete alleyways and sidewalks. Those walks are my favorite. Most people here drive or take the bus, since it’s a minuscule town, so there’s no one around to bother me on my daily strolls. It’s calming—my form of therapy.

Which is exactly what I’m doing now—walking down the alleyway closest to my apartment for the second time today. The sun sets over the quiet town, dusk quickly plunging everything into a darkened haze. My shift at Celestial Reads bookstore and café ended twenty minutes ago, the same time it ends every day until classes start and my schedule differs.

I have a knack for schedules—organization, being timely, and writing everything down in my planner. I know exactly what’s happening every second of every day, and I like it that way.

So, as I walk down the shadowy alley toward home, head tilted down as I scan my phone screen for the next song choice, I’m thrown entirely off balance when I run smack into someone’s shoulder. Stumbling back slightly, I rub my aching nose as my mouth falls open, and my eyes land on two men before me.

The scary, mammoth-sized man I ran into has his hands wrapped around the other guy’s throat, pinning him up against the brick wall. My stomach churns—this feels like something I’m not supposed to see. Unfortunately, my suspicions are confirmed, as his dark eyes narrow at me, lips curling in disgust. My eyes widen as they flicker toward the guy who is possibly seconds away from being murdered, and annoyance seeps into my veins when the first thing that crosses my mind is how handsome he is.

His dark, wavy brown hair descends just along the tops of his ears, connecting with a five o’clock shadow that accompanies a full mustache soaked in the blood dripping from his elongated nose. His thick eyebrows hover above his brown eyes—rich with gold flecks that flash slightly as he stares at me. There’s no way I can bring myself to look away, not until he grits his teeth and draws my attention to the angular shape of his jaw.

Only a psychopath would notice something like that right now. Maybe I’m crazier than the guy with his hands wrapped around Handsome’s throat.

Focus, Finn.

I may have just interrupted an attempted homicide.

The stinging in my nose subsides the moment the frightening man releases his potential victim, lunging toward me with a growl I can hear over the music still filling my ears. As I step backward with a yelp, the cord to my headphones yanks the buds free, and I trip over something, falling on my ass. My black hair obstructs my view as it cascades in front of my eyes on impact, and my hands sting from trying to catch myself on the concrete. I quickly scoot in the opposite direction of my oncoming attacker while a breathless whimper escapes my lips.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

This is it. This is how I go—on one of the walks I adore so much.

Before his dirty hands can grasp me, he falls to the ground with a loud thump and catches my foot underneath his dead weight, trapping me. Chest heaving, I struggle to contain my panic as I peek up at Handsome, now holding a brick in his hand—a brick he just whacked the large guy across the head with.

He flings the brick to the ground as he winces, his hand coming up to clutch his side and drawing my attention to the massive gash along his rib cage. Blood soaks through his white shirt underneath his jacket—if the shirt can even be classified as white anymore. It’s quickly turning a deep scarlet.

“You’re bleeding,” I rasp, my hands shaky as they hover aimlessly next to me while my brain struggles to catch up.

His eyes flash down to my hands before flickering up to my face, studying me with an expression I can’t quite pinpoint.

“So are you.”

His voice is deep, rumbling through his chest in an unfortunately distracting way. In fact, I’m almost sure I feel it reverberating through the ground, through me .

I glance down at my palms, gasping faintly at the blood oozing from a fresh cut before lifting my head quickly to avoid looking at the crimson liquid any longer. My stomach never handles the sight of blood very well, especially when it comes to my own. The nausea always forms as soon as the heat creeps up the back of my neck, and then, the tunnel vision takes over. That’s the last thing I need right now.

Rubbing my hands on my ripped stockings, I swallow thickly before yanking my sore foot from beneath the unconscious guy and scrambling to get as far away as possible before I stand.

“You’re bleeding a lot.” I lick my dry lips, brushing my hair behind my ears as panic surges again. “I should call an ambulance.”

“No.” He grimaces as he touches his ribs, stumbling to lean against the bricks as his eyebrows furrow. “No ambulances. No hospitals.”

“ Oh ,” I groan anxiously as I whip my head around, looking down the dark alley for anyone who can help. “Oh no. You’re not dying on my watch. This isn’t happening. I’m calling an ambulance.”

Maybe.

If I can get my shaky fingers under control long enough to operate my phone as I pace back and forth nervously. My breath catches in my throat as blood smears across the screen, and my chest heaves deeper now as my airway tightens.

Suddenly, my phone is ripped from my hands, making me gasp in pain as it slides against the open skin.

“ No hospitals ,” he repeats with narrowed eyes, inches from my face.

I gulp.

He towers over my average height, making me feel not so average anymore as I crane my neck to peek up at him. He has to be over six feet. My body shakes from adrenaline pumping through my veins, and the cold seeps through my sweater. It travels to my core as I shiver uncontrollably.

“But—”

“Where do you live?” he interrupts in frustration, and his nostrils flare as he recoils.

I shake my head slowly at first, then quicker as I realize why he’s asking. “ No , you’re not coming home with me. I’m not getting blamed for your murder when you bleed out in my apartment.”

“For fuck’s sake, where do you live ?” he growls, gasping as he leans against the brick once more. “ Ah , shit.”

“Why?” I squeak. “Are you going to bash my head in with a brick if I don’t tell you?”

He rolls his eyes, but not before losing his balance.

Without thinking, clearly without thinking, I reach out to catch him as he stumbles. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I hoist him up as best as I can, but I’ve misjudged just how burly this guy is. He’s a lot bigger than me, so I doubt I’m much help at all, and he hisses through his teeth as I accidentally hit his ribs.

“Around the corner,” I blurt, cursing myself as the words leave my mouth. “Let’s go before someone sees us or this guy wakes up. Unless you killed him.”

“He’ll live.”

Gripping his very defined hip, I heave him along as I limp awkwardly down the alleyway. He groans and grunts with every movement, his arm thrown over my shoulders and gently squeezing each time he shrinks in pain. Each squeeze reminds me just how crazy I am. Do I have a death wish? I must.

There won’t be anyone out on the streets at this time of night. There never is, but I still can’t help praying someone will peek out of their window and force him to let an ambulance take him to the hospital. I don’t know much about anything medical, so I don’t know what he expects to happen by coming home with me.

He is doomed.

I’m doomed. He probably plans to murder me for being a witness to whatever illegal chaos was happening moments before I walked up on them.

It feels like it takes ages to round the corner and climb the steps toward my apartment lined up with the rest of the homes that pack the street. Sitting him down on the concrete slab next to my door, I dig through my bag to find the key with trembling hands before I struggle to drag him inside.

The tall lamp in the corner illuminates the living room, revealing the cozy beige that fills the apartment. I have one too many decorative pillows on the couch, a bin full of plush blankets, bookshelves lining the walls, and vanilla-scented candles that permanently stain the place with a warm fall smell. My apartment is my safe space.

Now, there is a bleeding man inside it.

I try not to freak out as I watch blood dot my carpet on the way to the bathroom, sighing weakly as I sit him down on the toilet seat. He grumbles under his breath as he leans back slowly, his eyes squeezing shut as he inhales. The air whooshes back out through his full lips after a few seconds.

“I think I have a first aid kit,” I pant in a small voice, rummaging underneath the sink.

Please, let me have a first aid kit.

The flashes of red and white on the outside of the box make me release the breath I had been holding as I whisk it out and open it up on the sink. There are bandages, wraps, tape, gauze—and I don’t know what to do with any of it. I’m virtually useless at this moment, which only makes my anxiety heighten as I meet the intimidating glower of his dark eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” I squeak, digging through the supplies obtusely. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what to?—”

“Take off my clothes.”

I almost break my neck gaping at him, and the way his glare quickly transforms into a patronizing stare only worsens the humiliation bubbling in my stomach. He thinks I’ve lost my mind. No , he thinks I’ve perceived his words as a sexual advance. Even better.

“So you can see the gash,” he continues slowly, as if he’s fully convinced I’m stupid. “Take off my clothes so you can clean me up, chica. Unless you want me to bleed out in your bathroom.”

A whimper is on the verge of escaping my lips at the pet name, even though I have no idea what it means. It just sounds good leaving his mouth.

I nod swiftly in response, my hands quivering as I carefully approach him to pull his jacket from his shoulders. I pitifully try not to react to the size of his chest and forearms, my tongue flicking out to wet my lips as if I’m parched. Maybe it would be best if he was here to kill me—put me out of my misery. I deserve to die for drooling like a puppy over this stranger bleeding out on my toilet seat.

The wound.

Focus on the wound.

“Just cut off my shirt,” he demands, his jaw clenching. “It’s ruined anyway.”

“Okay,” I agree gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Using the hair tie around my wrist, I throw my long hair back into a ponytail as I hurry into the kitchen to fish a pair of scissors from the drawer. It isn’t until now that I realize the sleeve of my sweater is drenched in blood from my wound, but I need to focus.

I need organization.

As I return to the bathroom, I perch on my knees in front of him. His legs splay out further as I position myself between them, sliding the scissors up the flimsy fabric of his shirt as I cut it.

My heart is on the verge of violent palpitations from the proximity, and even more so as his bare torso comes into view. The blood trailing from his gash is a stark contrast to his bronze skin. His chest is muscular, and his stomach is rippled down his happy trail to his waistline. From my point of view, on my knees, he looms over me like some Greek God, an Adonis himself.

What is wrong with me?

The oxygen constricts in my throat as I clear it, grabbing the kit from the sink and setting it next to me on the floor while I avoid his gaze. His heavy, heavy gaze. I meticulously pick out some gauze with my slender fingers, purposely focusing on the supplies in front of me and not on the fact that I can hardly breathe under his stare.

Bringing the gauze up to the wound, I bite down on my lip nervously before applying pressure to the gash. He growls loudly, and I wince.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Well, I am sorry,” I mumble. “What happened back there? Why are you bleeding?”

“Stop asking questions.”

Perfect. Of course, the ridiculously hot guy is an absolute ass.

“Stop being rude ,” I say.

Keeping one hand on the gauze, I lean to grab the bandages, tearing them open with my teeth before shakily wrapping them around his abdomen. My cheek brushes against his chest every time I twirl the wrap around his back to secure it tightly, making me flush. I don’t even want to know how prominent my pink cheeks are. They’re probably a flaming red signal on my pale skin, saying hey! Look at me!

Taping the bandage in place, I flinch as he hisses loudly.

“Ow.”

He grips the edge of the sink as he grits his teeth.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” I ask quietly, wetting a washcloth at the sink before dabbing at his blood-stained nose.

It doesn’t surprise me at all when he doesn’t answer.

“Are you a bad person?” I try again.

“Keep asking me questions, and you’ll find out.”

A shudder rolls down my spine at his words, and it reminds me that he could quite literally kill me if he wanted to. Another statistic. Another story on one of those true crime shows. I’m the dumb girl who let a stranger into her house without hardly an argument.

“It depends on who you ask.” He clears his throat as he answers again. His voice is less grumpy this time, still low but calmer.

“Is that why you won’t go to the hospital?”

He remains silent as I clean his skin. I can feel his dark eyes on me as I focus on the task at hand, refusing to meet his stare. If the air doesn’t start to flow into my lungs again soon, I might pass out. That would be great—falling into his lap and embarrassing myself.

He’s a stranger, Finn.

And quite possibly a bad one.

“I don’t know how long this will last,” I whisper, throwing the rag into the sink. Trails of crimson bleed from the cloth down the drain. “You’re bleeding too much, and I’m not a doctor.”

“Sit.”

I hum in confusion as I gawk at him.

He nods his head to the spot between his legs where I once was. “Sit down .”

The red flags are looking so green, disguised as a hot, brown-eyed man with muscles that belong in an art museum.

It’s humiliating how fast I sit on the floor between his large thighs and crisscross my legs before I peek up at him expectantly. My heartbeat thuds in my ears as he extends his hand to me.

“Your hand,” he says gruffly.

Oh .

Gently placing my palm into his, I swallow as I hand him some gauze before he can snap any more orders at me. My eyes train on our hands, determined not to make eye contact with him while I’m waist-deep in vulnerability land. He dabs at my cut, making me grind my molars, hoping to squash the lolling nausea in my stomach.

“Does it hurt?”

I nod.

He grunts. “What were you doing in an alley at night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He mumbles another word I don’t understand under his breath, making me frown at him as I plop another bandage into his open palm. We sit in silence as he wraps my hand carefully, his eyes focused—giving me the faintest opportunity to examine him.

The space between his brows is wrinkled, as if he scowls a lot. My assumptions are confirmed as he knits his eyebrows while bandaging me up. That only brings me back to his eyes. Dark, speckled with gold, mysterious as ever. They look like they hold a million thoughts and nothing simultaneously, but they are soft. Teddy bear eyes. That could be somewhat believable if he wasn’t a grump.

“Thank you,” I mumble as he tapes the bandage in place.

He nods silently.

I stumble backward as he stands, whisking his jacket from the ground and slowly putting it back on. Pulling myself up from the bathroom floor, I fidget with the hem of my cashmere sweater as I watch him turn to leave the room.

“That’s it?” I chirp.

He stops to glance at me over his shoulder.

“You’re going to leave without telling me your name?” I stammer, rubbing my arm. “Without even so much as a thank you?”

He blinks, and those hardened eyes soften just a smidge before he swallows.

“Thank you, Princesa .”