Peacekeepers Hunger Games Novels & Stories

Being caught as a rouge, alone, on pack territory signs your death certificate because the warriors kill first and ask questions later. Kimmy paces up and down the room while Nick and I continue watching cartoons. Kimmy's mate is one of the lead warriors so I understand her anxiety. I feel it about Aidan too. I'm very worried about him but I push it aside because my worry doesn't help anything. Instead I stand to make Kimmy a cup of tea. She smiles in thanks when I hand her the mug.

Aedre told Tivona who was looking at her from behind the tree she was hiding. The younger shook her head. “It’s not cowardice. Are you prepared to lose your life? None would take kindly towards you.” The older scoffed. “You must have thought of me as someone who was on a pedestal to think that way. I’ve lived in a world where pleasantries are hard to come by. And if it did, pain would eventually come as a price.” “They’re not ordinary poachers as I told you.” Her eyes widened as she listened to the conversation between the two. ‘Poachers?’

Shifters, fae, even witches are contributing food, crafts, and music. But beneath the joy, the tension simmers. Smiles are too tight. Laughter too forced. I see it in the way warriors keep their hands near their weapons. Maybe it's just me overthinking everything around me again. Kai walks up beside me as I finish checking the perimeter. "You really think this will work?" he asks. I nod. "It has to. We can’t keep surviving one apocalypse after another and call it living. We need joy. We need each other."

she asked, her tone skeptical but guarded. "No! Not a zombie! I'm a survivor!" Bima stammered. The girl looked at Bima... scrawny, disheveled, and smelling like old fish. Then she saw the Indomie Bima was clutching tightly. "A stinky survivor?" The girl snorted. "And you're holding dry Indomie? Do you want to die skinny in the middle of the apocalypse?" Those words, were the exact same words Kevin had said. Bima felt his pride being torn to shreds once again.

“Why do you keep shaking?” The whisper comes from a female beside me, her voice barely audible. I hadn't even noticed her gaze on me until now. I'm shaking, I realize, my body trembling since me and the other slaves were forced to kneel as King Sven, Katniss Whitlock, and the dignitaries from Cessi and Selenium feast. There are no palace guards around, but there are Gammas and some servers. There is also a lone bard playing music on his lute, the uplifting melody a stark contrast to the reality facing me and the others kneeling.

She was sobbing hysterically, begging me to let her in. Behind her, a horde of zombies slowly closed in. Faced with her desperate cries, I simply remained seated and continued cutting into the steak I hadn’t even gotten to taste yet. Not only did I keep eating, I even gestured for the guards and the chef to sit down as well. There was enough food for everyone. The guards were trained professionals. They understood that in a world like this, survival came first. Only the chef still carried the kind of compassion that no longer belonged in the apocalypse. He kept glancing anxiously toward the door.

We couldn't afford to let our guard down, not in this deadly game. As we ventured deeper into the wilderness, the darkness of the night surrounded us, and the eerie sounds of the forest served as a constant reminder of our perilous situation. But we pressed on, fueled by the memory of Jannah's sacrifice and the determination to emerge victorious. The Hunger Games had taken a dark turn, and the path ahead was uncertain, but we would face whatever challenges came our way as a united and unwavering team.

[The Public Confession] The world was a wall of white light and the rhythmic, predatory thrum of helicopter blades. As I stood on the precipice of the ruined estate, the silver briefcase felt like a lead weight in my hand, but Dante’s palm against my back was the only thing keeping me upright. The Peacekeepers moved in a tactical V-formation, rifles leveled, red laser dots dancing across Dante’s chest like blood spatter. "Step away from him, Ms. St. Claire!" the lead officer barked through a megaphone.

I did not understand what’s happening at that moment. “This is the reason that I left you and your mum. To keep you safe. I am a member of ‘The Keepers’.” The way he told that, and the expression on his face like I knew what the Keepers mean. Would I be proud that he was a part of a gang?’ “I know you do not know about the Keepers,” He continued, “But we are a part of an underground war against witches.”

“It’s harder.” Veyren nodded. “War only asks you to survive one moment. Peace asks you to choose every moment.” He looked back at the anchor. Green. Stable. Scarred but strong. On the ride home, he didn’t feel the old hunger. The ice wasn’t calling him. The pack was. At camp, the keeper was learning to peel a potato. She failed. Everyone laughed. Veyren laughed too. He sat beside her, took the knife, showed her the angle.