Owned by the Enemy

Hard Lessons

Astrid

Today is a good day. Scratch that—was a good day.

My brother Nicholas finally set the date for his mating ceremony. After finding his mate last spring, he’d marked Danielle within days. It was instant. Beautiful. Exactly what the Moon Goddess intended. Since then, Danielle and I have been planning the celebration—dreaming up floral arches and moonstone candles and songs that make your soul ache.

And now, it's happening.

Unfortunately… Nicholas doesn’t know about my bond. Or how broken and strained it is. And I’m not exactly eager to shatter the illusion for him. He’s done enough worrying for one lifetime—shouldered too much already. So I’m not going to say anything.

Hopefully, asking to leave the pack for the weekend won’t be a big deal. Hopefully, Dom won’t ask if he’s invited. Because honestly? I’d rather attend naked and alone than bring him with me.

I make my way down the long corridor toward his office, mentally practicing my lines. This is just a formality, Astrid. Get in, ask, leave. Simple. Easy.

I open the large mahogany door—and freeze.

Dom’s behind his desk.

But he’s not alone.

A blonde is bent over it, dress shoved up around her waist, t**s spilling out, face slack with pleasure as Dom slams into her from behind like he’s trying to break the desk. The sound—wet, hard, primal—hits me first. The slick percussion of bodies. Her moans, high and desperate. His low grunts. I stand there, mouth open in stunned horror, while every cell in my body screams to move. To do something.

And then his eyes find mine.

Cold. Unflinching.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Can I help you… mate?” he asks, voice full of venom. He spits the word like it’s filth in his mouth. His hips never falter.

The girl grips the edge of the desk harder, glancing back at me with a cruel, smug little smirk. And then she moans, louder. Exaggerated. A porn parody of my worst f*****g nightmare.

“Mmm, Dom!” she cries, eyes flicking to me again, like this is a game and she’s winning.

My wolf roars—furious. Heartbroken. Can’t say I didn’t try to warn her. She growls and then whines, a wounded sound that echoes inside me. We wanted so badly to believe he was more than this. That maybe he could be something more. Something worthy.

But now? Now we know.

There’s no denying what he is. A motherfu*k*ng piece of sh*t.

I should feel humiliated. But I don’t. I knew what he was. A player. An asshole. I’ve never been under the illusion that he gave a damn about me. And this… this is where I thank my Mother.

For teaching me how to hold my head high.For teaching me how to bleed gracefully.For teaching me how to walk through fire without screaming.

“You seem very interested in watching, Stacey,” Dom sneers, lips curling into a vicious grin. “Maybe that’s been your problem all along. Maybe you’d prefer a p***y to a wolf.”

“It’s Stephanie,” the girl corrects, voice small now.

Dom grabs a fistful of her hair and slams her face to the desk, giving her a look that says he genuinely didn’t give a fu*k—and still doesn’t. The look is pure indifference. As if she’s nothing but a warm hole with a mouth he regrets giving permission to.

I smile sweetly. Cool and sharp like a shard of glass. “I was just wondering,” I say, stepping further into the room, “if Stephanie’s dramatic performance was for my benefit… or for yours.”

He laughs. Low. Dangerous. “There’s no need for theatrics when I’m fu*k*ng someone, Princess. But wait—you wouldn’t know. You’ve never had this cock.”

So smug. So sure.

I glance down deliberately, letting my expression twist in distaste. “Thank god for that,” I say, eyes dropping to his groin. “Who knows what kind of diseases I’d contract.”

Stephanie’s face drains of all colour. As wolf shifters we don’t typically contract diseases with our superior healing and immune systems—but I’m willing to bet money on the fact that Stephanie doesn’t know that.

Dom’s jaw flexes, a snarl building behind his teeth. “What do you want, Astrid?” he snaps. “Either speak or get the f**k out.”

I meet his gaze, spine straight, chin lifted. I will not flinch. I’m not the one who has anything to be ashamed of. And well, I guess now is as good a time as any.

“My brother’s mating ceremony is this weekend,” I say evenly. “And I’d like to attend.”

No hesitation. No emotion. Just a woman standing in the ruins of something fated and refusing to let it define her.

Let him choke on the silence that follows.

Dominic

Astrid holds my stare like no one ever should.

She’s just walked in on me mid-fu*k—balls deep in… whatever-her-name-is—and didn’t so much as blink. No screaming. No tears. No meltdown. And fu*k me if that isn’t the most maddening thing about her.

I expected rage. Embarrassment. Maybe a slapped door and a shrieked how could you?

Instead? She stood there.

Unflinching. A queen in a battlefield of filth.

The only flicker—barely there—was when she mentioned her brother’s mating ceremony. Something shifted in those vivid green eyes. Longing. Maybe sadness. That ache people try to bury in dignity. She tried to smother it, but I saw it, her disappointment in not having a loving mate.

She probably plans to go alone.

Yeah, no. That’s not happening.

This? This could be fun.

A chance to get under her skin the way she’s crawling under mine.

She’s still standing in the doorway, too calm for someone who just caught her mate balls-deep in another. Her green eyes glitter with defiance, her mouth drawn into a perfect, unreadable line. That mouth. It should be wrapped around my name, dripping with submission. Not laced in damn silence.

And fu*k if her scent doesn’t make my blood burn.

My c**k twitches harder in response—traitor. All it wants is her. Not this. Not the warm, mindless body underneath me.

Stephanie—Stacy? Sophie? Who the hell knows—lets out a moan like she’s auditioning for an adult film. But instead of spurring me on, it grates. Nails on a chalkboard. Loud. Fake. Wrong.

Because she’s not Astrid.

Doesn’t sound like her. Doesn’t smell like her. Doesn’t set my nerves on fire just by breathing. And now she’s just annoying. I grit my teeth. I wish I had a gag. Or duct tape. Something to shut her up so I can at least pretend this isn’t a complete disaster.

“You can go,” I growl. The words are for Astrid.

Her reply is clipped, perfect. “Thank you.”

Too polite. Too icy. Too in control. She turns with deliberate grace, walking out with all the time in the fu*k*ng world, and closes the door behind her without even sparing me another glance.

And just like that, the room loses its heat.

Her fire vanishes. Her scent fades. The crackle of the bond dims like a blown fuse.

And my c**k?

Dead.

Absolutely, humiliatingly dead.

I stare down at it like it betrayed me.

Because it fu*k*ng did.

Stacey wiggles beneath me, her hips rolling, trying to lure me back into it. But I feel nothing. Not even a twitch.

What. The. f**k.

This has never happened. Not once. I pull out with a snarl and grab the nearest thing—her panties and toss them at her like trash. “Get dressed. And get the fu*k out.”

She flinches, her whole body stilling under the weight of my voice. “I—I can help in other ways,” she breathes, licking her lips like that’s supposed to fix anything. “If you’re—tense.”

“I said get. The fu*k. Out.”

That does it.

She scrambles, half-dressed and flushed, snatching her heels with trembling fingers. Tears rim her eyes as she bolts out of my office, the door clicking shut behind her like the end of a very pathetic chapter. I grab the condom, shove it into the bin under my desk, and slump back into my chair.

Pants undone. Limp c**k mocking me.

Fantastic.

This is my life now?

My wolf laughs at me, smug and arrogant. Not mate.

He’s been howling since Astrid showed up—loud, demanding, unbearable. And I’ve been ignoring him. Burying him. But now he’s dancing in my fu*k*ng brain like I didn’t just royally humiliate myself.

Not mate, he repeats.

Yeah, no s**t. But apparently, my d**k disagrees with me. And so does every goddamn cell in my body that aches for her like she’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning.

Fucking hell.

I rake a hand through my hair and glare at the ceiling like the Moon Goddess might drop down and offer me a refund on this bond. She won’t. Because she’s cruel. Or maybe I’m the cruel one.

But one thing’s clear: Astrid’s in my head.

And that makes this war.

That upcoming mating ceremony? Oh, it’ll be the perfect battleground.

She thinks she can walk away untouched? That she can belong to me in name only and still feel whole?

Not a fu*k*ng chance.

Poor thing.

She has no idea what’s coming.