Finnick Odair Hunger Games 소설 & 이야기

My mate, Ethan Rickman, is an Omega without a wolf. No official position is willing to hire him. That means we live in poverty, but I've always believed that our love can overcome anything. Seven years after our mating, hunger drives me and our son, Theo Rickman, to dig through trash bins late at night, looking for food. Theo moves quickly and quietly. He's become skilled at it. With a cheerful grin, he whispers to me, "Mom, this bin belongs to an award-winning restaurant! The food's fresh and tastes great. Let's bring some back for Dad!"

“Why is he here? I don’t know him.” The boy smiles and holds out his hand, as he replies, “I’m Finn. I’m so glad to get to meet you. I’ve heard so much….” What the heck? Ignoring his outstretched hand, I whip my focus towards my friend and hiss, “Owen, that still doesn’t explain why he is here with us. Stop beating around the bush and tell me why he is sitting with us.” Owen smiles and then turns towards Finn. As my friend pulls Finn’s outstretched hand back, Owen replies, “He is my mate. He is my omega.”

“Run far away and don’t ever come back.” The human ran away while Blade’s eyes remained fixated on me. “Who are you?” he asked in a sharp voice. “I’m the woman you bought years ago. I sold myself to you in exchange for my family’s freedom. My name is Katniss Valenciaga. From now on, please don’t feed on others. Feed on me instead.” “Why would I do that?” “You once said my blood tasted better than anybody else’s. If you don’t believe me, you can try it-“

It was only the first one and already I struggled to come down from it. “Damn that’s a beautiful sight!” Finnick exclaimed, drawing my attention. “Never seen anything prettier than your face when you come, kitten.” He had scooted down to lean on his side, his pants pulled low around his hips, freeing his cock. He was staring at me while he stroked himself in long, lazy strokes. Pre-cum leaked from his throbbing tip and I unconsciously licked my lips with the need to taste him. “Oh no, princess. you don’t get any of your holes filled right now.” Zayne reprimanded.

•••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• Before Time Learned to Count •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• × •••••• In the age before men gave names to the dark, there were nine gods of war. They did not love. They did not hunger. They simply were — vast and cold and endless as the space between stars, moving through centuries like blades through silk, leaving only ruin in their wake. Kael was the seventh.

He simply opened his eyes, those shifting, liquid silver eyes—and looked at me like he’d lived a thousand lives and remembered each one. And then he reached for me. I pulled him into my arms, tears running freely down my cheeks. “I missed you,” I whispered. “Every second.” He didn’t respond. Just held me. Like he was the adult. Like *he* knew what I needed. Later, as he slept again—peacefully this time—I found Finnick on the roof of the longhouse, staring out toward the distant peaks. The mountains were trembling. He saw me approach and didn’t turn.

Caspian Finnick was standing in my kitchen, wearing shorts and frying an egg while he poured hot chocolate into my favorite mug. How did he even know that was my favorite mug? The tattoo I’d noticed earlier brushed up his back to his right shoulder, dark and inky against his bronze skin. “Are you done?” I lifted my eyes and saw that he was staring at me. “Or do you need me to pose?” My pussy throbbed and I leaned against the door. “Pose.” He watched me as he cocked his hips to the side playfully, then walked towards me and caught my lips with his.

Finn almost says all of it because the weight of silence is crushing him from the inside. Then Owen’s name appears in his mind in a file. Owen Foster. Known relative. Leverage candidate. Finn swallows the truth until it becomes pain. “From people who do not care what happens to us,” he says. Owen stares at him for a long moment. “That is not an answer.” “It is the only one I can give.” “No. It is the only one you are willing to give.” He grabs his backpack from the sofa. Finn moves toward him before he can stop himself. “Owen.”

KYLE’S POV. “I should have known from your accent that you are not from here, and that you are from the South,” Katniss says, lowering her sword slightly. “Thinking does not seem to be your strong suit, so you are forgiven.” “I will not hesitate to cut you down.” “Oh, c’mon, I am just joking around.” “Well, I am not,” Katniss says, her tone suddenly dropping the bantering edge as her face gets deadly serious. She fixes him with a sharp, calculating stare. “So you’re the infamous Orion. The self proclaimed leader of the uprising from the South.”

“Or you’re very good at pretending.” “I can lift boxes,” I said. “And I don’t steal dust jackets.” Her mouth twitched. “Moira O’Rourke.” She jerked her thumb and a lanky man unfolded from the back like a rumor—tweed vest, kind eyes, smile that forgave bad jokes before he made them. “And this is Finn, who believes puns are a public service.” “Welcome to our paper church,” he said, leaning on the counter. “Interview question: dog-earing—sin or survival?” “War crime,” I said, deadpan.