Hunger Games Tributes!!! Novels & Stories

ß I take a deep breath and hope the onlookers don’t notice, standing like I’ve peeked at the girls before I did. The microphone sounds and the auctioneer starts the bid at ten grand. Holy shit.

AVA’s POV The night of Hunter’s challenge finally came. Me, Jared, Brock, and Syria all came along to be by his side. As we all entered the arena, everyone was screaming and cheering for Hunter’s name. It was fifty-fifty actually. But most are women, making my wolf growl lowly knowing how many women wanted our mate. I mean look at him. His toned muscles are visible as he is wearing nothing but boxers and shorts. Compared to his father who was wearing a massive armor in his body, Hunter is indeed a god.

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.

Ronan wasn’t affected by silver, so why the hell was Silas bleeding out like the poison was eating him alive? My throat tightened as I blinked against the tears that had pooled in my eyes. The hunters’ voices were getting louder, their movements closer, crunching through the snow like death on a warpath. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t have the time of breaking down. I dropped to my knees, gripping Silas by the shoulders. “Come on,” I muttered, half to him, half to myself.

Hunter plopped down on the bench in the garden as the girl awkwardly stood beside him before she sat down as well, a little away from him. Hunter watched her knee bouncing as she fidgeted with her fingers. She was anxious. "What's your name?" He asked after the longest time. "Violet," Was her innocent reply. Good Lord, this girl looked so naive and soft. How would she survive with a monster like Hunter? "When will you turn 18?" Hunter asked, eyeing her keenly and her face visibly paled.

The common room of the Crimson Wing was an opulent, suffocating gold-and-velvet cage, and every eye in it was waiting for me. When I stepped through the arched entryway, the frantic buzzing of noble whispers died instantly, plunging the room into a heavy, volatile silence. The nineteen tributes were gathered in loose clusters around the silk-damask sofas, but the moment I appeared, they shifted as one cohesive unit, drawing away from me like I was carrying the plague.

"You know the rules. No one touches the other tributes before the King does." The words fell from Skye's lips like a curse, and in the sudden hush I felt the truck grow ten degrees colder. The dark-haired girl shot back to her seat, eyes glinting with malice. Skye just tilted her head, a cold little smirk playing around the corners of her mouth.

“It’s not meant to be.” Because she understood now. The Rift hadn’t just marked her. It had claimed her. And the deeper they ventured, the clearer it became— This wasn’t just a fight for survival. This was a test. And Lena wasn’t sure she wanted to know what happened if she failed. A shiver crawled down her spine. “We need to move,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest. Cassian and Ronan exchanged a look, but neither argued. The tunnels stretched ahead.

Was it spiked with some kind of aphrodisiac for the celebrations? Her hands were useless, and she could barely keep herself upright. Her legs felt like water. Agnar had to fill a plate, which he did, and then he led her back around the cave. Her head swam violently, and her empty stomach started to lurch with it. Her vision tilted crazily, or was that the cave? The drums were now a part of her, vibrating inside her chest like her rapid heartbeat.

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.