Hunger Games Tributes!!! Novels & Stories

In a past where humans mattered. The courtyard was crowded with hushed sobs and frantic movements. Twenty of us had been named. Twenty tributes. Some were already crying. Others stared blankly ahead, like their souls had left already. No goodbyes. Just commands. March. Obey. Die quietly. Then I saw it the bus.

Riley I dragged my tongue across my cracked, dry lips, the metallic taste of blood lingering there as I watched him—this human who held me captive in this damn basement. I still didn’t know his name, and I couldn’t decide if he was keeping that detail from me to protect himself…or to keep me guessing. But I knew one thing for certain: I was hungry. Starving, really, and my stomach growled loud enough that even he noticed. “I’m hungry,” I snapped, watching his gaze narrow, sharpening like he could see right through me.

Hunter said and continued. "You know we had one more member in our gang. Her name was Sarah. She was like our family. The girl was in love with Rasmus. When she turns 18 she found out Rasmus was her mate but then everything stopped during the rogue attack, and she was killed. She was like a sister to me. I loved her as much as I loved Aurora and Angela. But she left us. It broke us apart but Moon Goddess sent Catherine and she named her baby Sarah," Hunter rasped. His eyes were misty.

"We can't have her making trouble on the way. Roric's guards are not to be messed with." They shoved me roughly into the back seat like a piece of cargo. My consciousness drifted. But I could clearly hear Blake's fawning voice on the phone. "Mr. Silas, the tribute is on its way. Her appearance, her scent… she's a ninety-percent match for the late Luna. The Alpha King will definitely be satisfied." Tribute. In their eyes, that's all I was. A tribute to decide their pack's fate. The city lights blurred past the window, finally stopping in front of a skyscraper that pierced the clouds.

My lips attempted to form another self-accomplished, shit-eating grin, but the muscles in my face refused to comply, and I was stuck somewhere between a constipated smile and a cry for help. Vladislav and Anatoly were still above the podium—or so I thought. I could barely see anything from behind the curtain of blood dancing across my eyes. God, I was so exhausted. But still, I had a chance of destroying Malcom Reece now. I had fulfilled my end of the bargain, and now Vladislav Moroz must fulfill his. The sharp clang of metal snapped me from my thoughts, the loud echo ricocheting through the bloodstained arena. The cage door flew open, and in came fury personified—with a mask.

"Let's see what the Beast is getting for his charity." I let the shift fall, fighting to keep my eyes downcast, submissive. To suppress the urge to claw his smirking face. The other tribute girls eye me with a mixture of pity and disgust – a wolfless slave, lowest of the low. "Inside." He grabs my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You're first, little one." The inspection tent reeks of fear and humiliation. A raised platform dominates the center, surrounded by mirrors. My heart stutters – mirrors that will reflect any slip in my illusion.

She wanted absolute dominance over my hunt. Ashley flicked the projector on, illuminating thirteen formal scrolls of intent. Among them were high-level tributes from the most prestigious "superstar factories" in the industry—Creative Century and Star Age. The tributes they offered in exchange for my signature were massive, enough to buy a small territory.

He witnessed it all. The whispers start again, but they’ve changed. They’re no longer about the cripple who shouldn’t be there; they’re about the girl who got up. The girl who finished. Another horn blows, a different note note this one, deeper and more solemn. "Finals," a gruff instructor bellows. "Combatants, to the ring."

There will be another hunting party before they declare the final winner hehe ***

“I’m afraid the owner of this house is already dead, Rory.” My knees suddenly turned wobbly. “What?” Elijah nodded. “Who owns this place?” “It’s Logan Hickman, the football coach from SHU.” Feeling suddenly lightheaded, I dropped onto the second step of the stairs. Elijah remained standing, and the flashlight beam bounced on the polished floor. “Tala said he’s the fourth sacrifice, Elijah.” My voice was as weak as my spirit. Each tribute was a step closer to the prophecy. They only needed one more, and I’d be next on death row.