Hello my lovelies c: This update is sooner from the last so yayyy :D So things are getting pretty spiced up :D Exciting! Personally, this is one of my favorite chaps c: So, without further ado,

A round of applause for my beta C.J. Ellison and,

Disclaimer: I'll own the Hunger Games when Voldemort gets a nose.

Chapter Nine

Peeta

So here you are, two steps ahead and staying on guard

Every lesson forms a new scar

They never though you'll make it this far

But turn around, oh they've surrounded you

It's a showdown, and nobody comes to save you now

But you've got something they don't

Peeta didn't sleep at all that night. He knew that he needed to be well rested for the coming day but he couldn't get his mind to shut off, no matter how much he tried. Sometime after midnight, he heard the door of his room creak open and he was greeted by Katniss' dark silhouette. She padded over to his bed and lay down opposite him noiselessly. Neither of them said anything as they lay together, barely touching, simply basking in each other's mere presence. He couldn't see her face properly in the darkness- just the sharp profile of her nose, the dip of her cheekbones and dark outline of her closed eyelids. He sighed as he observed her face, his eyes flicking back and forth so he could memorize every single feature. When the time came, he wanted to be able to remember the little freckle at the corner of her lower lip and small chickenpox scar above her left eyebrow and how her caramel hair curled when it wasn't tied in a braid. He sighed again and adjusted his head deeper into his pillow.

His thoughts started to wander and he thought about everything there was to think about. He thought about Prim and how he would do anything just to see her face one more time. His mind drifted to Gale and he wished he had remembered to tell him that he was free to use his bow. He wondered whether his friends from the Hob would miss him- Darius, Greasy Sae, Rhubba. And then he wondered whether his mother would ever bother to miss him too. The thought pained him somehow, and seeking for a moment of comfort, he grabbed Katniss' hand in the darkness.

He started playing with her fingers to distract him from the path his thoughts were currently venturing on. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against the glossy ridges of her flame patterned nails, the only part of her makeup that she still had on. He closed his eyes and started thinking about her then and about how much time that they had left together. Visions flashed across his closed eyelids. Of them when they were kids, sharing cookies and wild berries at lunch. Of when they grew up too soon for their age and he took her to the woods for the first time. Of their first kiss and the countless others that followed.

And then he saw a flickering of what had never happened, and now never would. He saw an older Katniss who had taken over the bakery from her father. He saw himself coming home to her with a loaded bag of game. He saw a little home, and maybe a little happiness too. Prim could've been a healer. And maybe they could've invited Gale and his family over on Sundays. Peeta shut his eyes even tighter to prevent the building tears from escaping. For a person who had never wanted to get married or start a family, he had subconsciously begun to dream of things that could never be possible, even if they were still home. Even if they hadn't been reaped.

He dropped Katniss' hand and started playing with a strand of her long blonde hair, tying and untying knots out of it like the snares he used to make back home. His mind started to turn again; would he need snares to catch his prey in the arena? Or would there be an alternate source of food like fruit trees, or maybe a freshwater stream? He prayed silently that he would get a forest or jungle landscape; anything as close as to the woods at home. It would be ten times as difficult from him to survive in a desert or a rocky landscape because he was so dependent on trees- for food, shelter, camouflage, even hunting. Once his mind had strayed to the arena, he couldn't stop thinking about what obstacles he might have to face. Mutts? Earthquakes? Feasts? Would he even survive the bloodbath?

He drifted off into a fitful sleep, emerging from and surrendering to the darkness more times than he could count. His half-awake mind was muddled with images and thoughts that made no sense. He could hear the death-signal cannons going off in his head, and every time he heard the ricocheting sound he would be snatched away from his sleep, only to fall back under a few moments later.

It was when he could see the first streaks of dawn breaking through the window that he heard an almost inaudible sniffle in the darkness. It was a miracle how quickly his mind cleared from the sleep induced fog that hung over his head. His arm immediately stretched outwards and he pulled Katniss closer to himself, the feel of her touch burning his skin. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he felt a tear soak into his shirt. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down her arm and felt her body began to shake slightly. There were no words in the world that he could say at that moment that could make their situation any better, so he kept quiet. What could he say anyway? It's okay? It wasn't. It's fine because they're together? But they wouldn't be for much longer. He own throat tightened and his eyes started to burn. He never really could bear to see her cry.

"This is so unfair." Katniss whispered in a thick voice, letting out a small hiccup. She adjusted her position and placed her head at his shoulder, before reaching a hand to wipe a trail of tears from her cheeks. The action was futile as more tears quickly followed suit. His heart clenched pathetically in his chest.

He let out a bitter laugh. "When have our lives ever been fair?"

Suddenly, the aching feeling in his chest was replaced by anger. All he could see was the injustice of the situation and all he could feel was the red-hot fury brewing in his chest. Why did he have to struggle to get food on the table? What did Katniss do to deserve the Games? Why couldn't they ever be happy? A sudden burst of emotion was bubbling up in his heart, a mixture of rage, bitterness and resentment. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hurt the Capitol. He wanted to hurt them, like they had hurt him and he wanted to snatch away their lives, like they had done his. He curled his fingers around his bedspread, balling the fine linen into his fists.

Katniss was quiet. He looked away from her face; he could feel his agony amplify the longer he looked at it. He remembered the days when the two of them were just friends, with obvious feelings for each other, tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. When they had finally come around, he had told her that it wasn't going to work. They had screamed and shouted and cried but he was adamant; nothing like this could ever work as long as they were in District Twelve or even Panem as a whole. Besides, he didn't want a family anyway. He didn't want a girl that he would fail to provide for. He didn't want kids who would be ripped apart from him and subjected to the constant horror of the reaping as soon as they turned twelve; he wouldn't condemn them to such a fate.

He wanted to laugh again. He was right all along, wasn't he? Maybe if he hadn't succumbed to his feelings he could've avoided the relentless twisting ache in his chest or the constant sting in his eyes. At least then, he would still be cold and heartless, less prone to the heartbreak and anguish he was feeling right now. And Katniss wouldn't be here. They wouldn't be together but she would be at home, in front of the television screen instead of on it. Wasn't this a sacrifice he should be willing to make?

Her hand came up and she ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes. He concentrated on the feel of her touch, the soft pressure of her fingers winding their way through his hair. He wanted to memorize the feeling. He wanted to remember the feel of her fingers intertwined between his, he wanted to remember the rich sound of her laugh, and he wanted to remember her startling crystalline eyes, the sight of which he would never get used to. As he mulled this over, he realized that there was still a small part of his brain that didn't regret the decisions he made and how the two of them turned out. If he was going to die anyway, did it matter how he spent the living part of his life? He wasn't happy back in District Twelve, but he was content. He was content, just scraping through his life and he was content in just being with her. It was enough, enough that he could endure the rest.

The only way he could ever experience that feeling now was if he died making sure that Katniss got back home.

"Do you think any of this would be different," he asked, quietly, as he turned his head to face Katniss again, so that their noses were almost touching, "if we weren't together?"

Katniss was quiet for a moment, thinking through the question in her head. "No…I really don't. It wouldn't have changed anything."

Peeta nodded, noiselessly. They were silent again. Peeta would've thought that being inches away from death, they would've had plenty to say. But right now, he couldn't think of anything at all. Words weren't enough to describe what he was feeling at that moment; they couldn't do justice to his situation. He had a feeling that Katniss knew what he was going to say anyway, if he decided to talk.

They both jumped when they heard a knock on the door. Not on his door; on Katniss' down the hall. The knocking was followed by the almost inaudible sound of Cinna's voice, gently calling for Katniss to wake up. In a few moments Portia would be here too. Suddenly, they both sat up, looking at each other wide eyed. If Peeta didn't manage to survive, this was probably the last time he was going to see Katniss.

Slowly, Katniss made a move to get up, not tearing her eyes away from his and Peeta started to panic. He grabbed her wrist tightly between his fingers to hold her back. She couldn't leave. Not yet. Not when he suddenly had an ocean of words he could say.

"Peeta…" she warned. Her voice was suddenly thick again. "I have to go…"

Even as she said the words, Peeta knew she had no attention to abide by them. She had perched herself back on the bed and didn't show the barest sign of resistance to his constricted grip. Panic was thumping through his veins. They didn't have time. There was so much he wanted to tell her. There was so much he wanted her to know. His tongue felt like sandpaper; his voice box was jammed. He released his grip and brought both his hands to her cheeks, cupping her face.

He looked straight into her eyes; the blue eyes that he had looked at so many times that they were burned into his memory. But as he stared at them, he wanted to memorize them anew altogether. He wanted to see them go darker when she was furious and he wanted to watch them spark up when she laughed. His let his eyes flicker to every detail of her face, imprinting every part of it to his memory. He didn't know if he'd get the chance to look at her again and he wanted her face to be the last thing he remembered. He felt a tear drop down to his hand and found that her eyes had welled up once again. Gently, he wiped the tear away with his thumb.

"Katniss…" he started to say, the words suddenly rushing out of his mouth. "When the gong sounds, I want you to run, like Haymitch said. Run as far away as you can. Don't wait for me, okay?"

Katniss started to protest but he spoke right through her words, his sense of urgency increasing with every second. "If I can't catch up straight away- and I swear I will- just run as fast as you can and as far away as you can, alright? Just try to find water and I'll find you." He told her. He wiped away another tear that rolled slowly down her cheek and started rubbing his thumb up and down her jaw in a repeated motion. "We will stay together." He stated, forcefully, adding every ounce of conviction he had into his voice. He didn't avert his gaze from her glistening azure eyes. "We will stay together and if we don't, I swear, I will find you."

Katniss nodded mutely through her tears. She was shaking again and seeing her like this was physically hurting him, like repentant blows to his heart. There was another knock on Katniss' door and Cinna was saying something again. Time was trickling out of their hands, too fast, too soon. He was still in a state of panic, thinking about what words he could possibly say that could even remotely reflect his feelings.

"And I want you to know," Peeta continued, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence. "I-"

He could see from her expression that Katniss knew what he was going to say. Even if she couldn't read him like a book, it was plastered all over his face. He saw her face change from one of misery to one of fierce fortitude. She grabbed him from both shoulders and fixed him under her still-teary gaze.

"Don't say it." she said, fiercely, cutting him off mid-sentence. She was shaking her head, rapidly. "No, no, no. Don't you dare say anything you wouldn't say if we weren't going into the Games."

"Katniss-" he started to object but she cut him off by pressing her lips forcefully onto his, a desperate murmur of not yet humming against his mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and held him together closely, like he would vanish the second she let go. Peeta's protest faded into his throat as he concentrated only on kissing her back, holding her face delicately in his hands. The only thing he could think of was how this could be the last time he got a chance to kiss her so he poured his heart out into that one kiss, conveying emotions he would never be able to transform into words. He could taste the salt of their tears mingling together and he could feel Katniss' breath hitching in her throat from suppressed sobs. When they broke apart, Katniss was openly crying.

She looked at him one last time, ran her shaking fingers along his cheek and brushed his hair out of his eyes. She pressed a wet kiss onto his forehead and whispered shakily, "I'll see you in a while."

He sat, unmoving and unfeeling, on his bed as he watched her disappear out of the door.

Peeta swallowed another piece of toast with help from a sip of water. He felt nauseous and sick to the stomach but he forced the food down, not knowing how long it will be to his next meal. Portia, dressed in soft sad shades of umber and charcoal grey, sat on the table opposite him, observing him closely and urging him to eat more under moment's intervals, her own plate remaining entirely untouched. When he finally pushed his half eaten plate away, Portia didn't object. They both knew that this was as far as he was going to get without throwing up.

"Come on." Portia stood up. "We need to get you dressed."

Portia leaded him to the other side of the Launch Room and opened the package that contained his clothes, identical to every other tribute's. As he put on his simple black shirt, he noticed that the light pink scar on his forearm- where a tracker had been inserted- was already beginning to fade. The rest of the outfit consisted of simple tawny pants, strong leather boots similar to his own hunting boots at home, a sturdy brown belt that Portia strapped around his middle and a thin, hooded black jacket.

Portia took the material of his jacket between her fingers and examined it, rubbing the slick fabric between the pads of her fingertips critically. "The material is thin so expect some sunny days," she informed him, "but it is designed to reflect body heat- so that means cool nights."

Peeta nodded mutely. Portia adjusted his belt and helped him lace up his boots. She dusted her hands and said, her voice carefully neutral, "Now we just have to wait for the call."

Peeta sat stiffly on the couch and Portia deposited herself besides him. They sat together quietly, Portia gazing at her interlaced hands hollowly as Peeta gnawed anxiously on the inside of his cheek. His nervousness seeped into terror as he realized that he could be dead in an hour flat. The apprehension that he had been feeling since he set foot on the tribute train, had been gradually increasing with each passing day and now within a matter of moments, it had multiplied tenfold. He didn't know how much more he could take before suffering from a full-blown panic attack. He started rubbing his hands together anxiously. Portia handed him a glass of water and he started taking little sips.

"You okay?" She asked, giving his elbow a comforting squeeze. He nodded noiselessly before reaching forward and taking her hand. She clasped his hand in both of hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her question had been a formality of course; they both knew he was pretty far from okay.

It was only a few moments later that a woman's mechanical voice broke into the dead silence of the room, announcing the time for the launch. Numbly, Peeta stood up with jittery legs and a racing heart. Portia led him towards the circular metal plate that would take him directly into the arena, still holding his hand, his clutching hers in a death-like grip. Suddenly, he felt like he had to say something to her too. It had only been a week and somehow she had managed to make a place in his iron-clad heart. Peeta thought that maybe it was because of the absence of a mother-figure in his life; when he met someone who even remotely filled the spot, his heart had allowed it unconsciously, willingly and easily.

Peeta wished he had gotten to know her better. He knew that now he would never get the chance to see her again and the thought was more painful than he could've imagined. She leaned over and kissed his cheek one last time, like a mother would do before dropping her kid off for school. Slowly, she extracted her hand from his tight grip.

"I believe in you." she told him in a strong and even tone. She placed both of her hands on his shoulders, her large hazel eyes serious and devoid of their usual good humor. "Think smart. Think brave. And do what you believe you have to do."

He nodded, silently. A siren rung out through the air and before the glass barrier could encase him in the narrow tube, he reached forwards and hugged her tightly, one last time. He whispered a small thank you in her ear and she nodded her head in understanding. He didn't mean it for the clothes. He meant it for everything else.

The plate started to rise and he kept his eyes on Portia as long as he could before he couldn't see her anymore. Just as her face disappeared from his view, he could've sworn he saw a tear drop down her cheek.

Darkness surrounded him for maybe twenty seconds before the metal plate was pushing him up and out into the open air. The sudden startling sunlight blinded his eyes and his nostrils filled up with the hopeful smell of pine trees and he could hear the barest roar of flowing water. Forest. Water. When he finally regained his vision, he heard Claudius Templesmith's voice boom across the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

He didn't have time to panic, only to observe and analyze and think. The sixty seconds started to trickle by; the amount of time they had before the gong sounded and it officially begun. The first thing that his eyes did was scan the circle of the tributes, scouting for Katniss. He spotted her on the opposite side of the circle, barely visible from behind the giant golden Cornucopia blocking his vision, standing between the girl from Seven and the boy from Five. No Careers nearby. Good. His eyes start to skid around. This was where he forgot everything else. He mind switched to survival mode. Analyze and utilize. The circle of tributes was situated on a large expanse of grassy dirt. On Peeta's left was a glittering lake that his eyes followed to the horizon. His mind connected it to the barely audible rush of flowing water that had previously reached his ears. He couldn't see anything further up to his north, which indicated a slope or maybe a cliff. River. Stream. The lake must be fed by some water source. To his right, he spotted a sparse forest consisting mainly of pines and thin woody trees that he couldn't identify. Cover. Hunting grounds. Shelter. He turned around on his plate and found that the land to his south comprised solely of a field that was blanketed with waist-high wheat crop. Possible food source. No, too risky, too unfamiliar. He turned back again and faced the Cornucopia. Just like the previous Games', the mouth of the Cornucopia was piled high with supplies which consisted of food, medicine, weapons and backpacks full of utilities. More supplies were strewn across the ground surrounding it, more reachable if he wanted to escape the bloodbath.

His eyes immediately zeroed up to the woods. This was where Haymitch would want him to go. And this was where Katniss would surely be heading. Thirty seven seconds left. His eyes scrounged the perimeter again. He started to mentally sort through the weapons and supplies scattered across the Cornucopia. If he grabbed the green backpack and that spear, he could make it to the woods in forty seconds flat. But if he ran a little sideways-

Wait.

His train of thought vaporized instantly when his eyes caught sight of the glittering object atop a little mound of supplies. A bow. It sat a little further up, almost at the mouth of the Cornucopia besides a full sheath of arrows, already strung, shimmering almost mockingly in the sunlight.

That's mine. He thought, instantly. That's meant for me.

But he stopped completely when he remembered the words he said to Katniss this morning. We're staying together. She would be expecting him to make a run for the woods. And she would be planning on doing the same. If he ran for the bow, he didn't know whether he would be able to get to the woods in time to find her. Or whether he would be able to get to the woods at all. Even if he was at his quickest, he knew that the Careers would only be a few feet away, and by the time he had grabbed the bow they would be at him with their swords and spears and clubs. But he also knew that if he planned on getting her out alive, he desperately needed that bow. It was the only way he could protect her and himself from the Careers- who after last night's spectacle, would be right on their tails.

He caught Katniss' eye. She was far enough so that he couldn't see her face clearly but he could immediately spot the slight shake of the head she gave him. He instantly knew what it meant. Don't. It's not worth it.

Fifteen seconds.

His mind was riddled with confusion. Should he follow her advice and make a run for the woods, or should he take a chance at the bow? He was confident enough in his speed, but could he get the bow and make it to the woods before the Careers got to him? It was a risk. One he wasn't sure he was willing to take. He knew he had promised her that they would stay together but he had also promised that he would get her out of the arena alive. Right now, he knew which promise meant more to him. If she died, it wouldn't matter if they were together or not.

Suddenly, a plan started forming in his head, formulating from the options laid before him. He didn't need to be near her to protect her from the Careers. He just needed to make sure that the Careers were far enough away.

He adjusted his stance, shoulders hunched, feet apart, ready to sprint.

Eight.

He breathed in deeply, ignoring the blood pounding deafeningly through his system.

Five.

He traced the circle of Tributes with his eyes.

Three.

He looked at Katniss, trying to take her in one last time.

One.

The gong sounded and he sprinted. No matter how much he could have mentally prepared himself for this moment, he knew he could never have been ready. His strides were long, his feet were swift, his arms lifting and falling in a practiced motion. He didn't look around, his vision narrowed and focusing solely on the glittering bow, the wind roaring in his ears. He closed himself off to the sounds that suddenly filled the air; the sharp stomping of feet on the muddy ground, the shrill cries that followed an attack, the shouts of fear that managed to send a shudder down his spine. The girl from Seven interrupted his stride and he knocked her out of the way without even looking at her face. As he ran onwards, he heard her let out an earthshattering scream and Peeta knew without knowing that she was dead.

Which means-

He turned around and ducked when he saw the knife soaring in his direction, but he wasn't fast enough. The knife caught his arm before bouncing to the ground, tearing through the thin jacket. Peeta stumbled as the pain and a trickle of warm liquid started to flow down his arm.

Don't stop, you can't stop.

He ignored the little spikes prickling through his limb and started to run again, pretending that the sudden jitters running through his legs was just the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The bow was close. So close. Just a few more steps. He started to climb the small mound, his arm already outstretched.

Just as his fingers were about to clasp around the shiny metal, a hand grabbed his ankle and pulled, hard. He let out a small oomph of surprise as he face-planted hard into the mud and ground connected with his body with a thud. Pain rammed through his torso and his head spun momentarily. Twisting sharply, he came face to face with the male from District Four who stood at his feet, a satisfied and exhilarated grin stretched across his lips.

The only thing Peeta could remember thinking was how the guy hadn't even garnered enough attention for Peeta to remember his name. But he wasn't dying yet. Not at the hands of this guy. District Four raised the long-bladed knife, and Peeta- still lying on the ground- aimed a swift kick at his ankles.

The blonde haired boy slammed to the ground, his knife clattering to his side. He recovered quickly, pinning Peeta sharply before he could rise. Peeta struggled under the weight of the heavy boy, twisting and turning to escape his grip. District Four raised a closed fist, and before Peeta could dodge, aimed a punch at Peeta's jaw. For a split second Peeta's vision blanched, his head was thrown back and he could feel the pain splitting through his skull like an axe.

Head swirling, Peeta gritted his teeth. Every second he wasted there was one more second away from Katniss. District Four raised another closed fist and in a huge burst of strength, Peeta dug his elbows into the ground and pushed his torso upwards. The boy's aim missed and his balance was thrown off. Taking the opportunity, Peeta freed himself and dug an elbow in his foe's stomach, causing him to double over and fall back into the hard-packed dirt.

Peeta straightened up and began to run, ignoring the bone-deep ache coursing through the left side of his face and the heady sting of the wound on his arm. He knew he had barely damaged the guy and he would be at his heels in a matter of seconds, but all he needed was to get the bow before District Four recovered. Peeta climbed the mound of supplies a second time, faster, single-mindedly.

Relief coursed through his system as his fingers wound around the gleaming metal, so different from the one at home but holding such a familiar feel. He felt a bout of confidence bubbling up in his gut. As long as he had the bow, he was in the game.

He slung the sheath over his back and wasted no time before notching a streamlined arrow against the arch of the bow. He checked his left arm where the knife had bit into his flesh. The pain was still tearing through his upper arm, but the bleeding had been reduced to a slow trickle that would stop anytime soon. He looked around the arena, from his position on the small mound of supplies. The bloodbath was going on in full motion. The Careers had already acquainted themselves with their menacing weapons and were hacking and slashing with incredible speed. He searched through the bodies lying clattered on the ground like ragdolls.

He almost cried with relief when he realized that he couldn't spot a blonde braid amongst them.

She had gotten away. Just like he had believed she would.

Peeta averted his eyes from the unconscious bodies. He could feel the bile building up in his throat the longer he looked and he swallowed audibly to force it down. Positioning his bow in front of his chest in a defensive, he jumped from the mound landing neatly on the ground, ready to make a run for it while he could.

He had barely even moved when he spotted District Four making his way towards him again, his blonde hair looking almost brown, a trickle of blood running down his brow and a ferocious look upon his face. He had reclaimed his knife and was grasping it tightly between his fingers.

Within a split second Peeta had raised his bow deftly and pointed it straight at the boy's chest on instinct, the tension of the string deliciously deadly beneath his fingers. The boy halted in his tracks and raised his knife threateningly in the air as if preparing for a clumsy throw. Peeta immediately knew he was at an advantage here. The boy had a knife, but it wasn't his weapon of choice.

"You move," Peeta started to say, "and I-"

"You'll what, Loverboy?"

Cato, the brute from District Two, came up to stand beside District Four with an almost amused sneer, the sword in his hand glistening crimson, the blood of his victims dripping thickly from the blade. Peeta cursed his luck. He had cut it too close getting his bow. The Careers already had him cornered. This was either a prime opportunity to kill off some of the competition and give Katniss a fighting chance, or a death trap just waiting to spring.

Cato appraised his bow with amusement, twirling his sword in his grip casually, as if trying to intimidate his competition. Peeta hated to admit it but his trick was working; he looked entirely too comfortable holding that blade, balancing its weight with practiced ease.

"Or else I'll shoot," Peeta said, somehow managing to keep his voice steady and trying to put as much threat into his words as he could. Slight tremors ran through his spine and he could feel the terror making his fingers jitter. He clenched his teeth together forcefully; this wasn't a time to lose it. He couldn't afford to throw off his aim. Precision was vital.

Cato laughed jeeringly, as if he knew a joke that only he could understand. Mockingly, he spread his arms in the air. "You're gonna shoot?" He taunted. "All of us?"

Peeta froze. Suddenly he was aware of the stocky figure of the girl from District Two, Clove, at his right, silently making her way towards his direction, her belt stocked abundantly with an array of knives, a dangerous glint in her dark almond-shaped eyes. He whipped his head to the opposite direction and could see Glimmer, the girl form District One, smirking at him with amusement. She winked at him and wiggled her fingers in his direction, one hand propped flirtatiously on her hip. When Peeta faced Cato and District Four again, they had been joined by Marvel, who had a silver javelin ready in his hand and two more in near vicinity.

Peeta tried to keep down the sudden eruption of panic in his mind even as he stared certain death in the eye. He pressed back into the mouth of the Cornucopia, trying to put some distance between himself and the pack bearing down on him. He didn't know where to point his bow. He didn't know where to look. His eyes flicked from one Career to the next.

Suddenly he thought of the deer he and Gale had cornered one glorious day, the expression in its eyes: terrified, knowing what was about to happen but unable to move. He just knew that his expression was exactly the same.

"Not so tough now, are you, Loverboy?" Marvel jeered. He stabbed his spear into the dirt and twisted it around making a small hole in the soil. In a few moments, Peeta knew, the soil could potentially be replaced by his heart and the shattered remains of his sternum.

"What was it you said last night, huh? I'll kill all twenty-two of them myself!" He quoted Peeta mockingly, accompanied by the laughter of the others, delighting in the situation.

For a moment there was complete silence everywhere. Peeta could practically feel the eyes of the whole Capitol glued to their television screens, eagerly watching the spectacle as they reached into a bucket of popcorns, unable to tear their gazes away from the 'entertainment'.

Then, Cato spoke as if completing the sentence for Marvel. His voice was low and disgusted but Peeta could almost feel the sound waves hitting his ears.

"But you're just a brat who's way out of his league."

The others immediately laughed in agreement, jeering.

"Go on, Marvel! Skewer him!"

"Stick him already. Or let me do it."

"No, let Cato gut him! Let's see if his sweetheart's name is engraved on his little heart!"

Peeta was barely listening. Something about Cato's tone or his words threw him off. The proudness of it. The arrogance thickly lacing each separate syllable. Suddenly, his vision was blanketed by red. His hands started to shake from anger instead of fear. His breathing accelerated. He could feel his pulse throbbing angrily in his veins. The laughter echoing around him was like a catalyst to the fire. He wanted to show them. He wanted to show them all.

Because I am not your prey.

He clenched his bow tighter, arrow already notched, and pulled back the taut string. He felt a bout of exhilaration in the simple action. The practiced way his arm extended backwards, the muscles in his back flexing and coiling with its tension. The soft tickle of the string as it connected barely with his jaw, curled fingers anchored at the seam of his mouth. The absolute certainty with which he knew that he would get his target, every single time. He felt a burst of pure satisfaction of seeing the surprised faces as he released the arrow and took them off-guard. They hadn't expected him to act. Not when he was so heavily outnumbered.

It happened in less than five seconds flat. The arrow soared through the air. District Four fell to the ground. Peeta ducked just in time to avoid the sword sailing in his direction, quickly regained his balance and notched another arrow against his bow, aiming it directly at Cato's heart. Cato stopped short, his eyes widened in surprise. The rest of the Careers halted their movements, hesitating, uncertain. Peeta smiled inwardly. He knew how these things worked. Take down the alpha and the rest of the pack went down with him.

Understand now? I am not your prey. I am a hunter, and you are in my sights.

Cato's face at the moment was one which Peeta was sure he would remember forever. Skin red with anger, eyes dilated in fright and looking at him with something akin to astonishment. Peeta knew that he didn't have much time before the others got over their surprise and decided to attack, so he spoke, making sure that his voice carried perfectly to each one of their ears.

"I want in," he demanded, piercingly. "I want to join the Careers."

And BAM! Oh, Peeta you beautiful creature c':

So, guys I'd say that this chapter demands a review, maybe? c:

I need more ideas guys, so be free to suggest what should happen next!

The song is Eyes Open by Taylor Swift.

Reviews are like the happiness of my life sooo... *hint hint*

Anyways, love,

-EG xoxoxo