The archery grounds of Shadowclaw were alive with motion.Targets moved at rapid, unpredictable speeds, cutting through the air.
Nova had trained with moving targets before, mounted on cables. Fin himself had even served as a moving target once.
This was different. Something Aeron had devised, new to the pack. These targets were enchanted. They moved on their own, vanished and reappeared without warning, changed direction mid-flight, and followed no pattern she could anticipate.
Balen Bloodmoon exhaled a long, dramatic sigh at the sight.
"Saints above," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as another target shot skyward and spun out of reach, "this is exactly why I insisted on coming to Shadowclaw for this summit. Our damn elders are still set on that ancient magic ban. Said it 'disrupted purity.'" He scoffed. "No. It disrupts fun. And clearly," he gestured at the chaos before them, "your people have all of it."
Fin smirked, drawing back his bowstring. "If Bloodmoon wishes for entertainment, you only had to ask."
Balen snorted.
Behind them, Shadowclaw's captains stood at rigid attention. The wind shifted sharply; two targets shot across the grounds in opposite directions then vanished behind a boulder.
Jax stood a few paces back, arms folded, watching with interest.
Nova lingered farther still, tucked beside Elle and Cael, listening to Gamma Duskwind pantomime some over-the-top hunting story involving a cliff, a goat, and questionable judgment.
Balen released his arrow. It skimmed past a target that winked out of existence at the last heartbeat.
Balen grinned. "I would do this every morning."
Another enchanted target ripped across the field with a shrill hum. Fin tracked it and released. The target blinked out of existence at the last possible moment, and the arrow buried itself harmlessly in a snowbank.
Balen clapped, delighted. "See? Even you can't keep up with your own toys."
Fin lowered the bow. "Not without warming up."
"Oh, don't try to save your pride, Shadowclaw. Your targets are practically possessed. And"—Balen leaned in, "I want to play with them properly."
Fin's brow rose.
Balen grinned like a wolf about to steal livestock. "With stakes."
Fin paused. "Stakes?"
"Yes." Balen clasped his hands behind his back, pacing toward the farthest, most erratic target — the one blinking between boulders like a phantom. "We have been circling the same argument for two days now. The northern ridge. Patrol access. Rogue season protocols." He waved this away. "Tiresome, political, and dreadfully boring. I propose something better."
Fin tilted his head. "Go on."
Balen stopped, turning fully toward him. "Let us settle it with archery."
The captains straightened almost in unison.
Fin blinked once. "You want to wager the ridge on a shooting match?"
"Yes." Balen's eyes gleamed. "Three arrows. Your best archer against mine. If Shadowclaw wins, you gain full shared access to the ridge for the entire rogue season. No advance warning required."
Fin's voice dropped. "And if Bloodmoon wins?"
Balen shrugged. "Then we keep our borders closed and Shadowclaw stops pestering us about it until next year's summit." He grinned. "Fair, isn't it?"
Fin regarded him carefully — weighing confidence, arrogance, and opportunity.
Fin finally said, "Very well. Who will Bloodmoon put forward?"
Balen lifted two fingers.
A tall, seasoned captain stepped forward immediately, hair half tied back, bow in hand, posture honed to lethal elegance. He bowed toward Fin.
"Captain Holt," Balen announced with pride. "Our finest. Twenty years elite rank. He has not missed a moving target since before half your pack could walk upright."
Fin nodded, impressed. "A strong choice."
Balen clasped his hands, expectant. "And who is Shadowclaw's best archer? Surely someone worthy of this range."
Jax already was grinning. He knew exactly who their best was.
Fin's smile curved slow and certain. "Our Gamma Luna."
Silence rippled.
Balen's expression faltered. "You're jesting."
Fin's chin shifted subtly toward the back of the grounds.
There stood Nova — a few paces away with Cael and Elle, still listening to Gamma Varek Duskwind of Bloodmoon reenact a story that involved a cliff and questionable decision-making. She had no idea the alphas were selecting archers, let alone selecting her.
Balen stared. "Surely not."
Fin folded his arms. "You asked for our best."
Balen blinked, then scanned the archery grounds as if expecting a warrior to step forward.
Fin folded his arms. "Shall I call her over? Or will you concede early?"
Balen stared, then muttered, "Shadowclaw has entirely too much fun."
Captains stood silent, shoulders squared. This was no longer entertainment. This was a wager that could redraw borders.
Fin gestured. "Nova."
Upon hearing her name, Nova glanced up utterly unaware she had just been drafted into a political challenge involving border access, honor, and two alphas with too much pride.
For a heartbeat a flicker of shock passed over her face when she realized every eye was on her.
"I require your expertise for a moment," Fin said, gesturing toward the line of arrows.
Nova nodded, steadying herself as her momentary surprise faded. She stepped forward.
Balen watched her with a grin of slight disbelief before it widened, wolfish and amused. "Very well. Three points for a bullseye on the blue target. Two points for a bullseye on a red target. One point for striking any target without hitting the center."
"That is acceptable," Fin replied, voice formal and even — the voice of an Alpha issuing an agreement rather than accepting one.
Nova counted twelve red targets and one blue. The red targets moved at Alpha speed, quick and jagged in their arcs, but still trackable with enough discipline.
The blue target matched that speed, but it flickered in and out of existence like a mischievous phantom. Drawing on it was a risk — it could vanish at the last possible moment.
She inhaled slowly and stepped forward.
Fin inclined his head. "Guest goes first, of course."
Balen gave a satisfied nod and motioned his captain forward. "Captain Holt."
A slender captain stepped into the open. His hair — white, tied half-up — contrasted sharply with the dark leather of his uniform. Everything about him spoke archer. Nova found herself watching with genuine admiration.
Holt's posture was razor-precise as he drew his bow, breath slow, gaze fixed on the shifting chaos.
The blue target appeared far left, shooting upward in a twisting spiral.
He released.
Bullseye.
A ripple of murmurs rolled through the Shadowclaw captains.
The blue vanished, then reappeared behind a boulder, darting vertically before cutting right.
Holt loosed a second arrow.
Bullseye.
Balen folded his arms, pleased. Fog curled along the ground. The blue streaked upward again — this time in a diagonal angle so sharp the air cracked around it.
Holt fired his final arrow.
Bullseye.
The target froze in mid-air, holding position to display the three arrows struck deep in the center.
Three arrows.
Three blue strikes.
A flawless score.
A warrior sprinted out, removed the arrows, and returned quickly.
Fin nodded once in acknowledgment. Polite applause followed, and Nova smiled warmly — genuinely — at Holt's performance.
Balen watched her carefully, uncertain what to make of the kindness in her eyes. But then again… he had known her mother. And Nova carried that same quiet sincerity. He couldn't look away.
Everyone noticed Balen's eyes on her before she did.
Fin ignored it and turned to Nova.
"Your turn, Gamma."
She nodded.
"Are you certain you wish to put her forward?" Balen asked, gaze still fixed on Nova, speaking as though she weren't present. "Last chance to reconsider."
"I am certain," Fin said, meeting Nova's eyes with steady confidence.
She stepped into place. Swallowed once. Drew her bow. The field erupted with motion. Red targets whipped past and a lone blue flickered out of sight the instant she located it.
She waited.
Listened.
The blue target appeared again near the treeline.
A heat surged inside her — like a memory clawing its way upward.
She released.
Bullseye.
The captains gasped as one.
Even Holt blinked. Nova didn't acknowledge any of it. She reset her stance, fingers steady on the string.
The blue target had disappeared completely.
Jax's gaze was fixed on her — intense, unreadable, and burning.
No memory this time. No strange flare inside her. Just certainty.
She fired.
Bullseye — splitting her first arrow down the center.
Silence dropped like a stone.
Balen's mouth parted a fraction.
Fin's lips curved.
Nova steadied herself for the third. The blue was now impossibly distant — hundreds of feet away, weaving in and out of stone columns before cutting back at an angle that should have made any archer wait for a better shot.
If she were smart, she would have waited.
She didn't.
Nova aimed.
Released.
She set the bow down before the arrow even struck. She already knew.
Bullseye.
And again — a perfect split down the prior two arrows.
Three arrows.
Three blue bullseyes.
Two clean arrow-splits.
A perfect score no one could misinterpret.
For a long, stunned heartbeat, not a soul moved.
Then the target drifted forward, displaying all three arrows — two splits, one untouched.
"Well done," Captain Holt said, genuinely impressed. "It would seem we have a tie… though her two arrow splits could be taken into consideration."
"We did not agree to that," Balen said, eyes never leaving Nova.
Balen stared at her like a man realizing the ground beneath him had subtly, irrevocably shifted.
And Nova — cheeks faintly flushed — only then understood. This wasn't just a shooting match. It was a wager for a prize she hadn't known she was fighting for.
"Well she certainly did not learn that in Ashbane." Balen said under his breath.
The targets re-set across the field, the runes humming faintly as spell-work rearranged itself. Fin lifted a hand for quiet.
"Very well," he announced, voice carrying easily across the grounds. "Holt and our Gamma Luna have delivered equal scores. Since we made no provision for arrow-splits beforehand, we will honor the tie."
Balen stepped forward, eyes bright with challenge. "Then let us raise the stakes, Shadowclaw."
A low murmur rolled through both groups of captains.
Fin inclined his head. "Name your terms, Bloodmoon."
"A second round," Balen said. "Five arrows each. On the moving shooting line you mentioned earlier. I want to see it in action."
One hand rested lightly on his dagger hilt, relaxed yet undeniably authoritative. "They start together. They race. If they tie again, precedence goes to whoever has the most splits. And if that is a tie — then whoever finished the fastest."
"Shadowclaw accepts," Fin replied in a polished, formal cadence. "And in fairness: the moving line is new. Our Gamma Luna has not trained on it. That equalizes the field."
A faint twitch threatened Balen's mouth. "Good. The same is true for my archer."
The obsidian platform lit from beneath, runes flaring pale silver. Holt retrieved his green-fletched arrows from an attendant while Nova accepted the white-fletched set Fin offered her.
She was momentarily stunned—but the surprise melted quickly into excitement. The challenge looked fun. Very fun.
Fin felt it through the matebond and restrained the instinctive grin that tugged at him.
Nova and Holt stepped onto the platform together.
The movement began instantly.
Not violently—just a drifting slide beneath their feet, followed by a subtle roll that required instant adjustment. Nova adapted without hesitation. Her balance shifted naturally, weight settling through her heels.
Her pale-silver hair caught the sunlight, cascading in loose curls down her waist, half pulled back. The wind at this height caught her cloak, billowing it behind her.
She looked stunning. Impossibly so. Jax's breath hitched; he doubted it would ever stop stealing the air from his lungs.
And Fin—gods, Fin had to drag his gaze away. Her scent spiraled to him in the wind, sharp and overwhelming. His wolf surged, demanding to claim her. He forced it down, jaw locking hard.
Beside her, Holt steadied himself, finding his balance a heartbeat later.
"Who trained you in archery?" Holt asked, formal but warm.
"Alpha Shadowclaw and our training master," Nova replied in equally polite cadence.
Holt lifted a brow. "And for how long have you been shooting, Gamma Luna?"
Fin's lips twitched—held still only with iron composure.
Heat crept into Nova's cheeks. "Long enough to embarrass myself far more thoroughly than today," she said with wry formality. "Your twenty-year mastery remains unthreatened."
Holt laughed quietly. "Well deflected. And unearned modesty. I have seen only a handful of archers with your precision." He studied her openly. "I am surprised you have not been approached by the Veiled Marksmen."
Nova's eyes brightened with unmistakable curiosity.
Behind them, Balen called out lightly—yet in the unmistakable cadence of an Alpha, "That is quite enough, Holt. We need not disclose too much of our internal affairs."
A ripple of polite amusement moved through the captains.
Every single one had been listening.
The platform shifted again as the runes brightened.
A sharp whistle cut the air.
Nova and Holt drew at the same instant—smooth, synchronized, unnervingly identical. Their posture, timing, and form mirrored one another so closely it looked choreographed.
That burning sensation surged under Nova's ribs—the same flicker she'd felt in the first challenge. Something half-memory, half-instinct awakening.
Her fingers tightened on the string.
The blue target flickered into existence.
She fired first— Bullseye.
She was already reloading before Holt loosed.
Holt fired— Bullseye.
Nova's second arrow flew immediately after. Bullseye — splitting Holt's arrow clean through the center.
They loaded again in perfect unison.
The platform jolted harder. Nova shifted her stance seamlessly; Holt adjusted half a breath later.
Blue appeared.
Nova fired her third arrow. Bullseye, splitting her second.
Holt fired— Bullseye, splitting her arrow.
They shared a brief grin— acknowledgment between equals.
Wind slammed across the platform—violent, whipping, unpredictable. Nova compensated for the wind, traced the terrain, the angle, the slope.
She released her fourth shot.
The arrow curved—wildly, impossibly—seeming as if it would miss.
Then it dipped and struck dead center.
Bullseye. Split.
Holt fired his third.
He used the wind in the same brilliant arc.
Bullseye. Split.
Nova didn't falter. She loaded her fifth and final arrow. The platform suddenly lifted, rising fifteen feet, tilting, forcing both archers to adjust.
The blue target flickered—far, distant, erratic.
Nova compensated for everything— wind, elevation, platform, terrain— then aimed at a phantom blur moving at Alpha speed, vanishing and reappearing.
She fired.
And set the bow down before it struck.
She knew.
Bullseye.
Split.
Holt drew his fourth.
Bullseye, splitting her fifth arrow.
He drew his fifth—Bullseye on blue. No split.
The platform lowered.
Holt turned toward her, smiling with genuine admiration. Nova returned the smile warmly. Friendship—unexpected and sincere—had taken root between them.
The captains erupted.
Jax was already moving. He reached her as she stepped off the platform, hands firm on her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead without caring who watched.
Fin wished he could go to her. Pride swelled in his chest but it was tangled with something deeper, sharper. Want. A longing that was tearing him apart.
So he held back everything he wanted to say. That she amazed him every time she drew breath.
That he had fallen so madly in love with her it ached like a wound. That he would do anything for her, even step aside so she could be happy at another man's side. The best man he knew. Because he knew it was the right thing to do and she deserved a man like Jax.
He held back the truth that she was meant to be his queen. His partner. His equal. He swallowed all of it, forced it down, not trusting himself to speak even a simple "well done" without unraveling.
He wanted to be her everything but couldn't be.
"Five bullseyes each."
"Shadowclaw: four splits, finished first. Bloodmoon: three splits, finished second." Cael called.
"It would appear Shadowclaw's Gamma Luna has bested the finest archer in Varos," a Bloodmoon captain announced with good-natured awe.
"Yes," Balen said, voice edged with reluctant respect. "It would appear so. Very well, Finric. Fair is fair. Shadowclaw wins the ridge."
His eyes—then went to Nova who Jax still had in his arms. Jax kissed the top of her head, grinning with pride.
Balen's eyes softened momentarily.
Later, as the groups walked back toward the castle, Nova and Holt lingered in the rear, speaking easily. Holt discussed technique and how he got started.
Balen slowed beside Jax, uncharacteristically breaking away from his conversation with Fin.
"You love her," Balen said quietly. Not a question—an observation.
"With everything in me," Jax replied without a shred of hesitation.
Balen's gaze lingered back to Nova for a long moment. His expression unexpectedly moved.
"That kind of love," he said softly, "is rare."
Fin's heart ached, and he gave a sad smile. She deserved that kind of love and so did Jax. She wasn't his to love.
He swallowed looking down at the ground in front of them.