The last of the sun spilled over the training fields, bleeding gold and crimson through the glass. A frost had settled on the ground. From the war room window, Fin's words trailed off mid-sentence. His gaze had snagged on something below.
Jax also had been looking. Both of them found themselves walking out on their balcony so they could hear Draven's training session.
"Sterling always brings his best cadets to kick Draven's class's ass," Jax said with a low chuckle. "He's desperate for one of them to come out on top."
"Is that tomorrow?" Fin asked.
"Yes. Apparently this group is hit or miss—some days they look unstoppable, others not so much. Their target practices are basically a circus."
Fin huffed a quiet laugh.
From the balcony, both men watched the field below. It wasn't unusual for leaders to observe classes and trainings from afar—but neither of them were here out of duty. They both were watching for the same reason, pretending like it wasn't for her.
Down below, a new captain and handful of first and second lieutenants sparred one-on-one with the students.
"Ah," Jax murmured, nodding toward the field. "They're friends with Draven. Probably volunteered."
Nova was in her full black training suit identical to her classmates. It was one piece and zipped up the back, it was supposed to be skin tight, but it was a little loose on her. Her silver blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it was clear they had been training all day. Her redheaded friend looked equally exhausted next to her.
She stood out from everyone else on the field. Neither Fin nor Jax could look away—and they weren't the only ones. Every pack member, omega, and warrior who passed seemed to do a double take. A few lieutenants slowed their pace just to watch her, one even tripped over a training spear and earned a round of laughter from his comrades. She was stunning.
Even exhausted she looked like she'd stepped out of a story, beauty so effortless it felt unfair. The fading sun caught in her silver-blonde hair, turning it molten.
Her class barely noticed anymore. They'd been around her long enough to be desensitized to it. Nova herself seemed completely unaware, lost in focus.
Draven, if he noticed, didn't comment. But Fin and Jax? Neither had blinked in minutes
Jax didn't like that she was training with the male warriors like this. For starters, she'd only been training for a few months and the opponents were easily double her weight and size. But what bothered him the most, was them touching her. Every instinct in him bristled. His wolf, Talon, growled low in his mind.
Mine.
Fin's jaw tightened beside him, the realization settling in that every one of those warriors would have to touch her during training. He'd seen countless women spar —warriors, cadets, even students —and it had never once crossed his mind. But this was her. And suddenly, the thought of anyone touching her at all, made his blood run hot.
The two men stood in silence, neither daring to voice what they were thinking. The air between them grew heavy, thick with tension. Possession. Neither was aware that the other felt the same.
Training Master Draven stood at the edge of the sparring ring, his deep voice carrying.
"All right," Draven barked. "Captian, pick your opponent."
The recently promoted captain, Hunter Ryker, stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, and far too sure of himself, he carried that easy arrogance of someone used to being admired. His grin was the kind that had likely gotten him out of trouble—and into plenty of beds. Most of the girls in Nova's class were already staring, eyes wide and dreamy.
He was well known among the she-wolves for both his skill and his charm, though Nova hadn't been paying attention long enough to know his name. She was too exhausted, running on sheer discipline.
His gaze, however, had been fixed on her for some time—drifting back to her between every match. Finally, he nodded toward her with a casual flick of his chin. "Who's that one?" he asked, like she wasn't standing five feet away.
Draven's grin made it clear he'd been waiting for that. "Nova Moonveil."
Nova jolted, realizing a second too late that he was talking about her. She blinked once, her face schooled into a flat, unreadable expression—but the look she shot at Draven said everything.
Draven only crossed his arms, tone dry. "No way out of it, Moonveil."
It was obvious they'd danced this dance before.
That earned laughter from her class. Nova sighed through her nose, tied her hair back tighter, and stepped forward.
"How long's she been training?" Hunter asked, flashing a grin.
"A few months," Draven said.
He smiled, lowering into a loose stance. "I'll go easy on her."
Jax and Fin could make out Draven's face and noticed his lips twitch for a second. A ripple of laughter broke through the watching students, almost like there was something they'd seen that no one else knew.
Fin's eyes narrowed. "What the hell was that."
Jax didn't answer. He was too busy staring at Nova.
The words left him before he could soften them:
"Why is Nova about to spar," he snapped, "when she was cuffed in silver for two days earlier this week?"
All of his instincts told him he should intervene. But she wasn't his.
Fin's jaw flexed. "Remus wouldn't have cleared her unless he trusted the outcome." He paused. "Which concerns me more."
The whistle blew.
He lunged, fast but predictable. Nova pivoted sideways in a blur, caught his wrist, spun under his arm, and slammed an elbow into his ribs. Before he could recover, she struck three pressure points—shoulder, hip, knee—and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the frosted ground with a grunt, blinking in shock.
Draven called, "Hunter, zero. Nova, one."
The class erupted in laughter again like they had been expecting that.
Up on the balcony, neither Fin nor Jax said a word. The silence between them stretched taut.
The captain rose, brushing dust off his arms, smirking now.
"I like a woman who plays rough." He said, loud enough for everyone to hear. The lieutenants snickered behind him.
Nova didn't acknowledge it or respond.
Jax's grip tightened around the cold stone of the balcony as he watched the scene unfold below. That captain was blatantly hitting on Nova. Irritatingly bold, and though she wasn't acknowledging it, something in her posture betrayed the flicker of unease. It skated across Jax's senses with startling clarity. No, not just because he noticed her posture. It was stronger.
He recognized that sensation from his prior matebond. He was feeling her emotions as surely as air in his own lungs. It was the same tethered sensation he'd once shared with his late fated mate Cira, only Nova's presence struck harder, deeper, as if fate had driven a hidden hook beneath his ribs and given it a firm pull.
He couldn't deny it anymore.
Jax: Talon… is she our second chance mate? I feel such a pull to her.
Talon: I feel she's meant to be our mate, yet it's not acknowledged by fate.
Jax: I feel a deeper pull than what I felt for Cira. Her emotions bleed through without a mark.
Talon: Her fate is tied to another. Maybe if that other passes, we'd be her second chance mate. I am not sure. But the bond is there and it's deep.
Jax: So I'm not imagining her emotions.
Talon: No. I feel them. I felt the sparks when you touched. You aren't imagining any of it.
Jax's insides churned at that revelation, hot and sour, the idea of Nova's fate being tethered to anyone outside himself felt like a blade dragged slowly along bone. It felt wrong on so many levels.
He'd been fighting his instincts since the day he carried her into Shadowclaw and he decided he was done hiding it.
The whistle blew again.
This time, the captain came in low—feint, strike, pivot. Nova dodged every move like she'd read his mind, her body pure instinct. She slid under a kick, rolled, came up behind him, and landed a precise kick that sent him stumbling forward again.
"Draven, where the hell have you been hiding her?" Hunger called out mid-grapple, laughing breathlessly as he circled Nova with measured steps.
"My thoughts exactly. She never volunteers," Draven replied, casually, as though Nova weren't standing right there—like she was a curiosity and not a combatant.
Nova lost focus just for a split second, and shot Draven a look.
The captain missed his moment. Instead of attacking, he stood there, completely bewitched, caught up in the lines of her face instead of the fight.
"Don't look at me like that, Moonveil. You don't," Draven said flatly, as if her glance had been louder than it was.
Nova didn't respond. She turned her attention back to the captain, just as he blinked and realized that he should have attacked.
From the sidelines, one of the lieutenants bellowed out, laughter in his voice. "Gods, Ryker, are you trying to spar or stare? Her eyes moved and you just stood there like a lovesick pup!"
The watching soldiers snickered, their jeers echoing across the training grounds. The captain grinned at Nova, not embarrassed at all. And still unable to peel his gaze away.
Nova waited for him to be the aggressor. This time, he went for power—every strike meant to test her limits. Nova met him head-on before dodging left. She twisted right, her body bending and spinning faster than the eye could follow. The air cracked from the speed of their movements. He caught her once—an arm around her waist from behind—but before he could gloat, she kicked upward, catching his chin with her boot.
The blow snapped his head back. She used the momentum to flip in the air over him. As she twisted mid-air, she yanked his wrist behind his back as she landed, and her other hand clamped down on his opposite elbow, twisting him in a way that left both arms momentarily locked and exposed.
For a heartbeat, he was wide open—immobilized, unable to defend or strike. It was clean, it was tight, and it was a textbook submission hold.
Technically, the point should have gone to her. She knew it. Everyone watching knew it. But Draven didn't blow the whistle.
She looked at him.
He pretended not to notice.
The captain, stunned but not stupid, powered through the pain and broke free, lunging out of her hold. He swept his leg around in a desperate attempt to trip her. She felt the shift in his weight before it landed—her instincts fired like a lightning strike—and she leapt clean over it.
Before her feet touched the ground, she spun behind him. One hand locked around his arm. She dropped her weight, dragging him back and down in one clean motion. He hit the ground hard, and she followed, driving a knee into his ribs and pinning him flat, her forearm pressed beneath his jaw.
He groaned, stunned and breathless, muscles twitching but too late.
This time, Draven blew the whistle. Long and sharp.
A beat of sweat fell down her temple but she wasn't breathing hard. Fin's heart clenched feeling her unease and she was in more pain than she let on. She'd been training since dawn. Literally an hour after she woke up in the infirmary.
"Draven should have given her the point well before that." Fin said to Jax.
"He probably doesn't want the captain to leave this embarrassed and not help again." Jax said, shaking his head with a grin.
Fin chuckled. "He is getting his ass thoroughly kicked."
"She's had to have trained in Ashbane at some point right? There's no way two months of training leads to that." Jax wondered aloud.
"Not that I've ever seen." Fin said, nodding in agreement.
Down on the field, Hunter grinned, half impressed, half amused.
"Alright," he said, voice rough with adrenaline, "you want full force? You got it."
From the sideline, Draven called out, "Nova two, Hunter zero," before lifting the whistle to his lips and blowing a sharp blast.
He blew the whistle.
Hunter didn't wait. He lunged again—faster this time, something wild and hungry behind his movements. Nova twisted to avoid him, but he caught her leg mid-motion, yanked her clean off her feet, and slammed her to the ground with brutal force. The breath knocked out of her lungs as her back met the dirt. He followed, pinning her wrists above her head, on top of her with all his weight pressing down.
He leaned in close, grinning, breath rough. "That glare's cute. Still doesn't change the fact I've got you right where I want you."
Nova's eyes flashed.
On the sidelines, both Fin and Jax were already on their feet, tension rippling through them like a snapped wire. The second time this bastard made a comment like that. The second time he touched her.
Anger boiled beneath their skin—but something else twisted underneath it. Unease.
She didn't enjoy the attention. Not the comment. Not the contact. Not any of it.
And they felt it, clear as day.
Nova managed to pull one leg under him, kicking him square in the chest. He went flying backward several feet. He blinked, stunned, but landed on his feet with a grunt, boots skidding across the dirt.
She flipped up to her feet in one fluid motion. A dark bruise blooming across her cheekbone.
Draven lifted the whistle to his lips. "Hunter, one. Nova, two. Nova, if you get this point, you win. Hunter, you need two more."
Fin and Jax stood motionless above, watching as the last sliver of sunlight caught her face. Sweat glimmered along her temples, her eyes steady and unyielding.
Jax's hands clenched on the railing. Fin's did too.
Hunter cracked his neck, shaking out his shoulders like he was stepping into a tavern brawl rather than a structured match. "Guess it's time I stop playing nice."
Nova didn't answer. She just waited.
He came at her fast again—too fast, too aggressive, and sloppier for it. She ducked the first strike, slid beneath the second, and caught his wrist as he overreached. In a flash, she turned into his body, dropped low, and threw him clean over her shoulder.
He hit the ground hard, flat on his back, and before he could blink, she was on him—knee to his sternum, hand to his throat, pin sharp and undeniable.
But Draven said nothing.
Nova looked up at him for a moment. Then looked back at Hunter and shook her head with a dark laugh of defeat. Draven wasn't going to call it for her. That was clear.
From the side, someone barked, "Oh come on, Professor Draven! You can't ignore that!"
Another voice chimed in, "That was a clean pin! Give her the point!"
Draven didn't even flinch. "Focus, class. The match isn't over."
Hunter seized the moment. With a grunt, he twisted hard beneath her, catching her off-balance. He rolled, slammed her back, and pressed his forearm to her throat, pinning her with all his weight.
Now the whistle blew.
"Hunter, two. Final point."
Hunter rolled off her, grinning like he'd earned something.
Nova didn't look at him.
She exhaled once, sharp through her nose, then planted her palms flat against the ground. In one fluid, whip-fast motion, she kicked her legs upward and flipped to her feet, all without looking at anyone.
The crowd quieted.
She reached up, swept the hair out of her face, like she was peeling off frustration one joint at a time. Dirt clung to her uniform. The bruise on her cheek had darkened. She shook her head once, slow and deliberate, her jaw set tight.
That look on her face said it all—This is so stupid.
Nova reset her stance without a word, body coiled, expression carved from stone. The courtyard was still. Waiting.
From the sidelines, Elle's voice rang out—clear, sharp, and scathing.
"Are you going to give her the point this time if she earns it," she asked coolly, "or will this round automatically go to him too?"
A few chuckles broke out.
Draven didn't look over. "Focus on your training, Elle."
"I am," she said, arms crossed. "I'm just trying to figure out the rules—since apparently they only apply to some of us."
Even Hunter glanced toward Draven at that.
Draven said nothing.
Hunter rolled his shoulders and stalked toward her again—but this time, the shift in his body was different. There was no humor left, no teasing edge. Just pure, focused aggression.
He struck fast. Too fast. Their hands barely touched before he drove his knee straight into her ribs.
The crack of impact echoed.
Nova gasped in pain, stumbling back, arms folding instinctively around her side—but she didn't drop.
From the sidelines, someone shouted, "That wasn't clean!"
"Draven, he just kneed her in the ribs!"
Draven didn't blink. Didn't lift the whistle. Nothing.
Hunter kept coming. He lashed out with an elbow meant for her temple, then a backhand that cracked across her jaw, too low to be legal. Nova ducked one, caught the other with her shoulder—but the next one hit.
More voices rose now, even mummers from soldiers passing by who had all stopped moving to watch.
"Are you gonna call anything?"
"He's not sparring clean."
Still, silence.
Hunter grabbed her by the neck, yanked her forward like he meant to slam her into the ground again—but Nova moved.
Her boot came up with brutal precision, slamming into his crotch.
Hunter dropped, instantly, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he collapsed to his knees.
Nova stepped back, hand to her side, her breathing tight, jaw locked. She had a busted lip, dark bruise on her cheek and her neck was red. Her classmates were on their feet now, half in outrage for her and half in stunned awe.
"He's on the ground! Blow the whistle Professor!" Ash called with a look of disbelief. Draven never showed favoritism of any kind and was the youngest best teacher hands down. But today, he was protecting his friend's ego
And finally—finally—Draven blew the whistle.
"Point. Match—Nova."
Hunter wheezed in the dirt.
She just turned toward Draven, slowly, and shook her head—one sharp movement that said exactly what everyone was thinking.
Draven lowered the whistle from his lips and said, with maddening calm, "Oh, you're fine, Moonveil."
He waved a hand like it was all trivial.
"Now you can brag you beat a captain at sparring. That should earn you a few drinks."
The class stared. Nova didn't say a word.
"You are all dismissed." Draven said.