Bloodbath Hunger Games Novels & Stories

"Keep it steady!" I regained my footing between the bags, aimed, then took another two shots. One hit his upper arm, the other his shoulder, but he kept coming, unfazed by the gushing holes. I shifted my weight onto my other foot and grinned. I might not have stopped him, but the Thornblood dipped bullets had punctured him, binding shade and host to the same satisfying fate. I fired one last time, hitting him strait between his soulless eyes.

I don’t know if it’s because I slept on a comfortable bed or because I drank blood or if it’s just the knowledge of knowing that I don’t have to hide who I am here… regardless of the reason, I feel better than normal. I creak my door open and peek my head out to look around the hall. I don’t see any signs of a vampire around so I slip out the door and head out to hunt for the kitchen. The aching in my stomach has grown and I’m not sure how much longer I can survive without eating.

For a heartbeat, I almost didn’t recognize her. I pressed my palm against the cold glass and whispered, “Survive him, Bella. Just survive him.” But even as I said it, I felt the rebellion inside me stir again, faint but alive. A dangerous ember refusing to die. Because maybe…just maybe—surviving wasn’t enough.

My body leaves pieces of itself behind with every scrape forward. I jam the blood-slick shard under the edge of the vent, prying, snarling, and cursing under my breath until it tears free with a shriek of protesting metal. It drops to the floor with a clatter that’s too loud, too final. Like a bell tolling at a funeral. Mine, maybe. Or theirs. I should feel triumphant. I should feel hope. All I taste is iron and empty hunger. Even winning tastes like blood. Even freedom wants its price in bone.

And I will not yield. The clearing lay in silence, haunted, unresolved, and heavy with inevitability. The Hunger had claimed a taste. The Darkness had made its demand. And Sipho… had survived another night, but the cycle would continue, altered, dangerous, and unending. The Bloodline War was far from over.

“Not everything. But sometimes… I get flashes. Pieces of us. Pieces of who we were in another life. And in those pieces, we fought the hunger. We resisted it. We were different.” Different. The word echoed in me like a plea. My chest ached, my breaths shallow. I wiped at my eyes clumsily with the back of my hand, whispering so faintly I wasn’t sure if it was to Titi or to myself, “Can’t we just… not crave blood? Can’t we stop it before it begins?” Titi’s growl rumbled in my head, trembling, aching. “You don’t understand. I need it. I can already feel the hunger clawing at me. It won’t let go.”

“None of your business.” “But did you have to kill him?” Hunter turned around. Ludo could see the hideous face she was scared of. The beards made him look even more horrifying. Ludo moved back trying to hide her face. “Welcome to our world young girl. BLOOD LIVES HERE,” Hunter started the engine.

Callum POV ********** It’s painful. It’s so much pain. It’s like my whole body is shutting down. I feel a rush of blood to my heart and it’s suffocating me. Each and every tissue of my body is ripping apart. It's all black. And blank. I am in the pit of an endless depth. With darkness and silence surrounding me. Where am I? I can't see or hear. I want to scream but my throat is blocked. My lips are dry and chapped or may be bleeding. I can taste blood.

Just before I succumb to the darkness that pulls me, I hear it… “White hair. A gene of the moonblood line. Cursed. Prophecies surround them.” It’s a whisper in a foreign language. But somehow, I understand it. “The rest of them were killed. She’s the last of their kind, she must be killed.” And I succumb to the blackness. I don’t struggle, no, I go willingly. But just before my mind blanks, I make up my mind. When I wake up, I will leave Ashbane pack. I will run, and I will hide.

A deep, unrelenting hunger that burned hotter than anything he had ever felt. --- The horde pressed forward, their guttural growls harmonizing into a maddening symphony of death. Yet, Bayo could sense more than just their movements. He could feel them—raw, unfiltered emotions crashing into him like tidal waves. He staggered as it intensified, clutching the side of a destroyed vehicle for support. His vision swam with flashes of distorted images: teeth gnashing, clawed hands tearing flesh, and endless, insatiable hunger.