50th Hunger Games Tributes Novels & Stories

“How many fights did you take?” “Enough.” “That’s not an answer.” Sudan’s gaze drifted to the floor. “I didn’t count.” Zach wrapped the bandage around his hand, ach loop felt like a vow he hadn’t said aloud yet. “You could’ve died,” Zach said quietly. “I know.” “You say that like it doesn’t matter.” Sudan’s eyes flicked up to his. “It didn’t.” Zach froze. The bandage hung loose between his fingers. His voice came out hoarse. “It matters to me.”

♱ •⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅• ♱ Calisto was beside me and soon was no more. "Beware" I heard him scream as a dagger flew towards me. There were many. From what I had heard from the villagers, only 6 of them went to get the tributes. So what changed? Why the hell now had so many of them? 20? 30? No... it looked 45 if I hadn’t counted wrong.

I kiss her lips gently then step back. One by one we walk up to the pyres with the torches to light the pyres. I am supposed to go first, each of the others right after me. She was a Luna, an Alpha. This is the tribute she deserves but all these people are equally important so we decide we will go all at once.

I could smell it, heavy and sour in the cold air. "Get straight to the point," I ordered, my voice clipped, sharp. I needed this over. Natalie was waiting. Graham's hands shook slightly as he gripped the steering wheel, gathering the scraps of his courage. "I need your help, Master," he said hoarsely. "Please. Save my family." I remained silent, waiting. If he was going to beg, I wasn’t going to make it easy. "We’re due to offer tributes this year," he said, his voice cracking like brittle glass. "I’ve already lost two of my daughters. They couldn’t survive the transformation. And now..." His throat bobbed in a hard swallow. "Now they demand the third."

Or brothers close enough to look it. One had a scar down his left cheek. The other had a tattoo peeking outside his collar. They weren’t bidding or saying anything. They just watched me. The bids hit one-fifty. Two hundred. Two-fifty. The room was filled with excitement Then the one with the scar lifted his hand. “Five hundred thousand.” The announcer cleared his throat. “Five hundred from Ares Blackthorn.” No one moved. The one with the tattoo looked at his brother, his expression was that of anger or maybe a challenge.

Beth took a small step back, she was happy here and while she was sure Lillah, with her huge belly full of the egg she was required to provide, was genuine in her concern, Beth did not need the pity. “There are seven ‘trials’; one every two days after an Omega is chosen as tribute. This is from the final trial.” Beth indicated the left side of her face, so badly burned that despite the healing prowess of a wolf-shifter it had never recovered. “They take the stone from the trial prior, heat it in the campfire. When the flames have died you kneel in the ash and press your face to the stone. Every unmated male of age takes their fill, and when they are done it is over but, if you lift your head

His group of nobles was getting louder with each match, drunk on wine and violence. I glanced at Whitney. She hadn't moved since we sat down, her eyes fixed on the arena floor where they were dragging the Stage Two Hunter's body to the side. Her hands were clenched so tight in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. "Whitney," I said quietly. "Five hundred credits." Her voice was barely audible over the crowd noise. "That Hunter was Stage Two. Probably had a decent experience and knew what he was doing. And he still died. But if he'd won, five hundred credits. That's half a year of Alex's medication."

"The High House of Rosalind stands before the true bloodline. We bring the tributes from the Southern Borderlands, as commanded by the Crown." Natalia did not tell her to rise. She leaned forward slightly, her silver mantle rustling against the obsidian throne. "Uncover them," she commanded. Beta Vance stepped forward and pulled the velvet cloth away with a sharp tug. A collective gasp, followed by an immediate, suffocating silence, rippled through the upper galleries. Resting on the iron tray were the severed heads of Alpha Colton Vance and Alpha Jaxon. Their features were frozen in a permanent, horrific state of agony and shock, their empty eyes staring blankly at the high ceiling.

“Allow me to call for a peace talk between us and Wordsworth. Let that be my first duty as the Luna of this pack.” “And if they refuse?” Katida queried Shooting her an annoying sneer, Lana darted her eyes to her man to look at him. “We suffered a surprise attack because we weren't prepared for them. We trusted their words and went searching for no trouble. However, we will be prepared. If there is an attack, we wouldn't be so surprised anymore. As for the tributes, we will end such ridiculous practices. This pack is not a thing of hoax. We won't work hard to give to others. If any pack should receive tributes, it should be us.”

~.NOVA.~ Under the moon's watchful gaze, we had on the grass hidden from the tributes we saw earlier. Suddenly, a distant sound reached our ears—a haunting melody that echoed through the night. We exchanged wary glances, recognizing the tune as a signature of the Hunger Games organizers. "It's the anthem," Horia whispered, her voice tinged with dread. "They're showing the fallen tributes." We looked up at the sky. There, illuminated by the moonlight, were the faces of the fallen tributes, their images projected like ghostly apparitions.