Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters and core personality traits are the property of SC. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Six
“What can you do?” Peeta questioned her with continued authority, all business as he pushed himself off the mattress and walked towards the expansive wall of weapons.
He snatch a spiked mace off it’s hook and tossed it from hand to hand, as if to measure its balance, before swinging it in long, controlled circles. His movements gave no indication of struggle but the hard ropes of muscle twisted across his arms, straining the fabric of his Capital issued uniform. Katniss was realistically unsure if she had the strength needed to so much as lift the object an inch off the ground.
“So impractical… The things they come up with,” Mellark let it fall to the concrete floor with a heavy, hallow thud, giving her a half grin and a raised brow, “Stripped of your bow, where do your talents lie?”
Katniss scuttled up against the wall that backed the bed and pulled her legs to her chest in a tight, secure ball. The very question made her anxious. Her answer seemed simple.
“I don’t have any,” she barked out before recognizing it as a mistake.
Haymitch had made it so clear that she needed to have confidence in herself as a firm prerequisite to convincing anyone worth allying with that she was more useful alive than dead, but it was so difficult to feel competent after her Earth-shatteringly poor first encounter with the slaughter she was meant to be an eager contributor to.
“I-I can hide easily… I can go a long time without eating,” she stammered on.
The older boy appeared no more impressed or pleased with her answers than she was.
”Careers aren’t defensive players,” he informed her dryly. Peeta gave her small, unimposing posture a hard look, one she couldn’t quite place, “And as long as I’m alive, you will not go without food,” he added, voice thick with what sounded for all the world like a genuine vow to protect.
Somewhere out there, Capital woman were fawning over the deadly Casanova, Katniss noted.
The large tribute paced back across the room and knelt by her side, causing the female’s heart beat to quicken in direct relation to his nearness. She wondered, if even the games went on for weeks with the two fighting side by side, if she’d ever reach the point of not expecting him to kill her each time he approached.
She desperately hoped not.
Katniss stayed still as stone as he reached for the tail of her trademark braided hair and plucked the tie off gently. Surprisingly nimble, strong fingers worked the trained locks out of their organized embrace until they were completely separated waves of mahogany.
When he was done, he sat back on his calves and let out an almost unwilling groan.
“You’re breath taking,” he murmured, blue eyes so pure in color that they appeared impossibly illuminated as he examined her newly framed face.
She peaked up at him carefully, very much wanting to tuck her wild curls back into submission.
“I don’t care much for wearing it down,” the quasi-tom boy commented, even though she was sure her opinion on the subject held little consequence, “It’s always falling into my eyes. It’s not a practical style for us in the labor districts.”
Katniss didn’t add the uncomfortable way Gale looked at her the few times she had worn her hair free; similar to the stare Peeta currently pinned her with but which held a great deal more shame; lust and confusion.
As suspected, he looked unconcerned, busy soaking in the beauty she could never quite recognize in herself, even as she admired its brilliance in her mother and sister.
“It stays down from now on. You aren’t part of that anymore,” he commanded simply, reaching into its thickness and soothing the slightly stinging scalp underneath. Katniss leaned into his touch, weary when she realized she did it not for the cameras or the alliance but because his warmth felt, uncomprehendingly, like balm on her shattered psyche.
“You look older, less innocent, without the braid. Cato and the others are very visual animals. Appearances are important.”
She nodded slowly in understanding.
“Good, baby,” he crooned, “now that your stylists’ tortuous primping isn’t stopping the flow of blood to your brain, let’s try again… What can you do for me, Girl on Fire.”
The Seem tribute looked up at him and for once, managed to pull strength from his steady, fixed stare. She allowed herself to imagine what would please the gorgeous murderer that was offering her lodgings under his encompassing, dark wing.
She turned and studied the wall of supplies again, purposeful instead of petrified. Her attention glossed over the line of impressive, treacherous blades; heavy and sharp and ever so personal. Those objects were for Cato, who enjoyed to watch closely as the life drifted out of the eyes of his hapless victims… who reveled in the warmth of someone else’s blood on his skin.
The throwing knives triggered more of her interest but were a particularly specialized weapon. Having never practiced with them, one could not simply pick up and toss the artfully weighted daggers and expect them to inflict much more damage on an opponent than an equally heavy rock. She’d leave those to Clove and Glimmer and watch her back accordingly.
In the very corner, as if an after thought, the Game Makers had placed various ropes, weights and pulleys. She was no where near Gale’s level, but Katniss had a notable talent with which to make use of these blessed resources and for a moment, she felt capable.
“I’m a hunter,” she managed more confidently. “Without my bow, I can still trap and track.”
His satisfaction in her response started as a conspiratorial smirk and spread slowly into a white toothed, dimple-exposing beam. The Career leaned in and cupped her cheek softly. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time, baby.”
Katniss’ grey eyes widened at his overly affirmative reaction and positively popped when he jumped quickly to his feet and immediately pulled her up as well. She was on shaky legs and struggling for her bearings before she could even process the questions his actions raised.
The immaculately modeled boy steadied her with care that only slightly countered the disconcerting ease in which he manipulated her body. The independent young woman hadn’t felt so physically inadequate since she was a child.
“Where are we going?” she demanded desperately as he placed a large palm across the swell of her back and guided her toward the entrance of the cornucopia.
Surely she hadn’t thought she would be allowed to hide in its faux protection for the duration of the games but she most certainly felt unfit to leave it so soon and with such little consideration. She attempted to dig her heels into the ground but the futility in doing so was almost humorous. He stopped on his own accord and bent to address her quietly.
“As much as I’d love to spend the rest of our evening alone-,” Peeta stroked his hands sensuously along her slim rib cage and his eyes danced in response to her subtle quiver, “Even we have to prove our worth unless we want to take on the rest of our alliance single handedly. Frankly, I don’t like our odds.”
Peeta gave the reluctant female a small nudge from the final cover of their claimed quarters-like a hopeful mother bird pushing a chick from the nest with expectations of flight-and stepped out half a length behind her as a single entity. She used every ounce of her bravery to fix her face into an impassive mask.
The scene of the worst horrors Katniss had witnessed in her short life was virtually unrecognizable.
The killing field had been transformed into a jovially camp ground. The broken bodies of her fellow tributes had been replaced with small tents and mounds of sorted supplies. Day light was fading quickly but someone had built up a textbook perfect fire and the smell of cooked food replaced the metallic sent of far too much spilt blood.
There was no sense of relief. She wasn’t sure which version she found more disturbing.
Cato turned away from his tending at the fire’s edge, the first to notice their reappearance. The attractive psychopath gave them an unsettling Cheshire Cat grin and held up a sting of prepped meat like an invitation.
“Mellark, Kitten-,” he waved his hand in gesture to his erected empire, “Welcome to the land of the temporarily living.”
Cato and the ebony haired, small girl to his right cackled at his own joke. The careers were characteristically high spirited for the first length of the games almost every year Katniss had watched. In excellent strategical position and adrenaline filled from the fruition of killings they had trained their whole lives for, they typically enjoyed the arena until numbers dwindled and they had to turn on each other.
“Don’t call her that,” Peeta growled in halfhearted annoyance, once again pushing his companion further into the scorpion’s den.
Cato ignored the comment and zeroed in on Katniss’ reluctant gate. When Peeta had warned about the Careers being visual, his message would have been better served by specifying that they were intensely perceptive.
“What’s wrong, kitten?” the district Two male continued, looking her over with intentional lewd interest, “I don’t bite unless you’re into that sort of thing. Can’t say all that lovely hair you’ve been hiding doesn’t make me want to get a nip in-” he and Clove dissolved into another round of guffaws.
Peeta Mellark released a sound that reverberated through the clearing like a dog’s snarl, instantly silencing the couple. They might have been spirited and rabid with power but there was still an indisputable pecking order and once they realized their Alpha was not a participant in the fun, there was a visible straightening of spines as they stepped back in line.
“I won’t warn you again, Tribute Two,” Peeta venomously curled his words around the number, a reminder of rank. He was not only the larger of the males, but also a stand out favorite of the Capital. “She’s mine. In every way.”
Katniss knew what he meant by that; his to touch and his to kill. Still, she clung to him, trying to comprehend how a relationship with the most talented threat in the entire arena could possibly mean safety. How long could a gazelle live in the company of a lion? Until he tired of the burden? Until he himself grew hungry?
“What are our current numbers?” Peeta demanded, sensing the girl’s fear and endeavoring to redirect the focus.
He sat himself across the blaze from the others and pulled Katniss down onto his lap. Reaching his hand out without comment, Clove offered him a ration of meat that he in turn forced into Katniss’ hands. The smaller female watched the coddling with sharp, narrowed eyes; though she held none of the overwhelming disapproval that had boiled within Glimmer.
Cato’s playfulness melted away and he locked into a report styled in a fashion that demonstrated his training, “Bellowed desired. 8 dead. Female 3. Male 4. Male 5. Male and female 6. Male and female 8. Male 12. We chased our target into the lake a mile south before he lost us.”
“Who was your target?” Katniss asked, daring only an attempt to keep her stomach from churning at the thought of consuming food while the ending of lives was trivialized in numbers. Faces ran through her mind and her thoughts went out to the eight devastated families across Panem.
“The district Eleven male,” Clove answered, “He’s formidable. His scores were concerning. We had hoped to eliminate the threat before he had an opportunity to establish himself in the arena.”
“We hadn’t anticipated losing our leader so quickly,” Glimmer’s feline hiss proceeded her appearance from inside one of the near by tents. She had used the time since leaving the cornucopia dwelling to clean her face of her victim’s blood but the sour twist to her red lips kept her looking no less sinister.
A tall, dark featured boy followed her out of the pop-up shelter and Katniss felt Peeta’s body coil like a spring underneath her. She recognized the male tribute from distinct Three, a district that was included in the Career alliance more often than not. If it hadn’t been for Peeta’s instantaneous tension, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the talented spear thrower accepted into the group.
“What is he doing here?” He snapped in a tone so cold that it iced over any warmth that might have been offered by the healthy fire.
“Marvel, district-” the new comer started.
Peeta’s attractive face twisted with fury, and even Cato looked around uncomfortably, “Three, subordinate. I know who you are, but not why you are alive…”
No one looked particularly eager to vouch for the endangered outcast so after a beat of silence, he spoke up for himself. The lanky boy preened bravely, “I have ideas… I can contribute.”
“My alliance is already set,” the leader growled.
For a moment, Katniss was sure she was about to witness the intruders death, right then and there, but instead of standing for a fight Peeta wrapped his arms more securely around her. Marvel looked tense and pale, clearly also unsure of his life expectancy. Part of her worried for him but another corner of her mind acknowledged something not quite savory about the lone district three survivor, a calculated cruelty in him that was hidden more gracefully than Cato’s.
Glimmer sashayed to Marvel’s side and placed a delicate, stiletto nailed hand on his shoulder. “He has excellent skills…” She paused for effect and smirked wickedly, “with explosives. He’s already started excavating the podium mines and can reactivate them for base protection.”
Peeta looked even less accepting at his district mate’s words, “Engaging him was not your call to make.”
Cato bounced to his feet, “He’s right,” he announced, “Your call, Mellark. If you want him dead, I’ll take care of it right now.”
The blonde offered with no more emotional empathy than one would volunteer to complete a chore, pulling a knife long enough to disembowel a deer from a belt sheath.
Marvel’s light skin bleached of color entirely and he glanced around for a chance at life but seemed to realize too late that he was out armed and out numbered. He looked imploringly to Glimmer but she only shrugged and stepped back away from him, unblocking access.
“Please… I can protect the supplies. I can help in the hunt. Just let me prove myself!”
Katniss’ whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. Her vision of was spotting again, unwilling and incapable of watching as a human being was butchered with a hunting blade while she was meant to be eating dinner.
She tried to care about herself and her family more, tried rationalize what was about to happen as the reality of the games. Only one could live. Only one. Allowing her rejection of this type of behavior would raise contempt with the others and continuing her propensity for passing out at the sight of killing would only prove her weak and useless to the Careers.
But killing wasn’t in her blood and would never be common place to her.
Escaping the current situation in the only way she could think of, Katniss turner her face from the scene and buried her nose into the nape of Peeta’s neck. She pressed her lips against the minutely stubbled skin of his Adam’s apple. It wasn’t a kiss, but it would certainly appear to be to anyone else. Though she had anticipated the benefit of a visual shield, she didn’t expect the calm that his clean, masculine scent would induced in her. She breathed deeply and tried to think of nothing else.
The man beneath her frozen in surprise for a few beats in time before validating her by reaching up and caressing her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.
Glimmer’s small scoff reached Katniss’ ears but it didn’t unnerve her a fraction as badly as Marvel’s pleases. “I’m sorry, are we boring you?” The gorgeous female demanded.
Peeta laughed out a rich, wonderful sound and kissed the top of Katniss’ head fondly. “What do you think, love?” he asked for all to hear. “Is he worth his rations?”
“She is not in charge here!” Glimmer shrieked, furious.
Again her countryman spared her not even a glance, keeping his gaze on the beauty in his arms, “Of course she isn’t. But I am, and I’d like to know what Katniss’ opinion on the matter is.”
Peering up into the calculated set of his eyes, the forced nonchalance, Katniss saw the life line for what it was. He knew well that she didn’t have it in her to sentence someone to death and by permitting her to stop the killing, he was allowing her to avoid the terrible scene that might have exposed her short comings. His first uncontrolled reaction told her that, had it been his choice, The Capital hover craft would already be coming to retrieve Marvel’s body.
She swallowed hard and tried to appear as if she were mulling the decision over. “Land minds could be a great advantage…” She reasoned like her choice was strategic, “We could even bait them. They’d be low risk, no contact kills. Possibly a chance to best Thresh without direct combat.”
Cato and Clove shared a glance that looked mildly interested. Glimmer opened her mouth as if to argue before snapping it shut again, unable to dispute someone that had already taken her side.
“Yes, of course!” Marvel interjected, “The male from Eleven isn’t an issue. I’ll take him out myself.”
Peeta still seemed reluctant and his mouth set with distaste, “I’m going to hold you to that,” he took hold of Katniss’ chin and guided her face up for a quick, indulgent kiss, “I hope you can recognize a life debt, Tribute Three. My companion is much more tolerant than I.”
The scared boy nodded his head in a submissive bow toward the sovereign couple, “Thank you, Tribute Everdeen. I will not forget your mercy.”
Despite his words, Katniss heeded the rigidity in Peeta’s posture and decided the new member of the alliance was not to be trusted; even less so than Cato, apparently, which she found alarming.
Peeta Mellark turned his attention from Marvel altogether and gestured to Katniss’ forgotten meal.
Eat, love,” he ordered sternly. “You’ll need your strength. You’re leading our hunt tonight.”
Leave a Reply