I spent my first morning of 2016 wrapping up this chapter. Not a bad way to start the year. I hope you like what's about to happen.
Many thanks to everyone for sticking with this story and reviewing!
Refusing to sit back down like a weakling, Katniss sagged against a cabinet. She was guzzling water from a glass, recovering from choking on the scone, when Mr. Mellark blew into the kitchen with Greasy Sae trotting behind him. Covered in flour from knees to knuckles, he rushed over to her and clamped his palms over her cheeks, inspecting her face. "Are you all right?"
"Physically or mentally?" Kat croaked, setting the empty glass on the counter.
"She'll be fine," Sae assured Mr. Mellark. "She's finally breathing normally again. And she's ceased swearing."
Well, that did it. Mr. Mellark's jaw went rigid. Sae had shooed the staff out of the kitchen, ignored Kat's pleas not to send word to Mr. Mellark, and dispatched a messenger to the bakery, where he'd been working with Peeta. Katniss wasn't ready to face either of them yet. So after Sae accused her of making things even more difficult than they needed to be, the cook reluctantly promised to send a missive addressed only to Kat's guardian, asking him to come home and settle a "household dispute," but not to alert Peeta about it.
Upon Mr. Mellark's arrival, Sae must have informed him of the real problem. He snatched the D12 Post from Katniss's free hand, his eyes tearing across its contents and then lifting to her. "This kiss—were you taken advantage of? Did this person, Mr. Hawthorne, force himself on you?"
"No. He caught me by surprise, but it wasn't deviant. He's my friend, not a blackguard. I simply had no idea how he felt about me."
"And you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I'm not as good a shot as I used to be."
"It was a mistake. I'm sorry."
"So am I," he said with disappointed affection, a gentle sort of anger that made her feel worse. She'd been sneaking out of the house to meet Gale. She'd betrayed her guardian's trust and confidence. She'd lied to him and to Peeta. She'd been caught kissing Gale, and now everyone knew.
Katniss harbored no regrets about her passions or love of archery—neither would the Mellarks ask or expect her to. Yes, she coveted the freedom that men had. However, pursuing that freedom didn't justify deceiving her family, who'd only ever supported her independence. What society thought of her didn't matter; what her family thought of her did.
Because of her carelessness, Mr. Mellark could have demanded plenty of things from her—he could have shouted them. And he would have every right to do so; no longer could he brush off her antics as fixable, harmless incidents that the district would eventually forget. But in spite of what she did, he was quick to fester and then forgive.
Not that it made her feel less guilty for burdening him. He hadn't asked for any of this.
"As for my parental duties, let's see if I've got this straight." He counted off his fingers. "You lied, you sneaked off with a young man, and you could have been hurt. I don't care if Mr. Hawthorne's a hunting guide. He's not a proper one if he thought it was acceptable to take you to the woods alone without my permission, and especially when I've only met the chap once in town, which means I hardly know him. Am I missing anything else?"
Katniss cringed. "Other than it being public knowledge? I don't think so. I'm sor—"
"Sorry. Indeed, I heard you the first time. Oh my girl, I want you to do what you love. I want you to excel at hunting if that's your wish, but not at the expense of honesty in this family. You're still young, I'm still your guardian, and we must trust in each other. Do you understand? Do you agree?"
When she concurred, he patted her wrist. "I'll consider your discipline later, but for time being, tell me exactly what went on."
She recounted the events from her birthday onward, while Mr. Mellark rubbed the bridge of his nose, absorbing the details with reproach and fatigue. Instead of Deliah being Mr. Mellark's next concern, he jumped ahead to another priority: Katniss and Peeta.
"What's amiss between you two?" he asked. "He came home from a year away, you were both ecstatic to see each other, and that first morning everything seemed fine in the Everlark world. By that afternoon, you could barely look at one another, and when you did, you'd both flushed scarlet. And now I hear that it got worse on your birthday—I thought you were avoiding each other, hardly speaking at the table, because of some stubborn quarrel. Then this weekend, you were joined at the hip again, and . . . good grief, it's ceaselessly teetering this way and that."
"Peeta's going to be furious with me," Katniss predicted.
"You're fretting over his reaction to this news? Why? Kiss or no kiss, these hunting outings sound like something he'd approve of. Rascals, that you both are."
"He envies my friendship with Mr. Hawthorne."
Mr. Mellark looked as though he might have laughed, had her indiscretion not been immortalized in the newspaper. "Ah. I see."
Except Katniss doubted that he did. She didn't even know what was truly happening with her and Peeta, and she guessed that Peeta didn't either. At their picnic by the lake, he'd admitted that he stayed away from her purely because he wasn't sure how to approach her after the things they'd said in the hallway, on the morning he was drunk. And Katniss had understood that because she'd been feeling the same way, awkward and uncertain.
For the sake of damage control, Mr. Mellark insisted they pay a visit to Great Aunt Effie immediately. When the elderly woman got wind of this, she was going to burst a blood vessel, but once she recovered, she would know what to do.
In the carriage with her guardian, Kat bent forward, dropping her forehead into her clammy palms. Deliah had seen Kat and Gale together. She'd seen Gale kiss her, yet Deliah hadn't merely injured Katniss. No, she'd attacked Gale too, hurling him into this cesspool of scandal and smearing his good name all over the page.
What's more, Kat wouldn't see Peeta until tonight. They were engaged at the symphony with Mr. Mellark, but according to him, Sae wasn't the only one who'd sent a letter to the bakery. Deliah had as well, begging for an escort because her father had declined to go with her and her mother. Apparently, Peeta had agreed to accompany the women there. He would clean up and dress at the bakery, then ride straight to Miss Cartwright's townhouse on the way to the theatre.
If Peeta hadn't heard of Kat's disgrace by now, he would once Deliah got her pincers into him. On the way to the symphony, she would casually bring up the scandal, then fake-blush, and then fake-apologize for assuming that Peeta already knew. By pure coincidence, she would have the article tucked in her mantle, the evidence close at hand to brandish like a trophy. Then she would bombard Peeta with theories.
Katniss wouldn't be there to defend herself. She wouldn't have the chance until they were at the theatre, trapped in their seats with an entire brass section honking into their ears. Very likely, there would be no prospect for discussion there.
Who was she kidding? It wasn't going be a discussion. It was going to be a fight.
Arriving at Great Aunt Effie's and lumbering up the front steps, Mr. Mellark advised Katniss. "Effie's been plagued by a cold since yesterday. That's a good thing. It probably distracted her from local gossip, so we can break it to her gently and tactfully. Let me do the talking," he said, while Katniss bobbed her head in agreement. "Like I said, chances are high that she doesn't know yet."
The door tore open before he'd even grabbed the knocker. Instead of the butler, Effie's furious face cut into the doorway, her mouth bunched into a prune, her nostrils flaring like a bull's.
Never mind. She knew.
In the purple upholstery of the sitting room, Effie paced around a settee, punching the floor with her cane. She lectured Katniss for an hour, denying her the opportunity to apologize.
"Kissing!" her aunt shrieked. "Kissing like a common tart! You might as well have let him truss you up and have his way with you."
Mr. Mellark's eyes shot heavenward. "Effie, there's no need to be vulgar."
"He kissed me," Katniss muttered. "Furthermore, he's only a chum."
"It doesn't matter," Effie piped. "He's a man who's never courted you. A man in trade. Lips met lips—in broad daylight! And in front of Miss Deliah Cartwright, whom you recently humiliated to the masses. I trusted you with her secret, thinking you smart enough to handle it, and what did you do? You announced it to the world instead of picking your battles and taking the high road. Now look what's happened. Of all the witnesses you could have selected—"
"I didn't select her!"
"Karma is giving you what you deserve, young lady. Percival Flickerman, Marvel St. Marvel, and now a Seam drudge. How could you be so stupid? In all my decades of greatness, I've never known such a reckless daredevil. At this rate, we'll be forced to admit you to a sanatorium." Impatient, she yanked on the bell-pull and hollered, "Where is my tea?!"
It went on like that. Aunt Effie declared Katniss the most naïve girl in the district, then groused about the ways of this country, then grunted how Katniss should have known better, how society sees everything, hears everything, smells everything, and how Katniss had been warned, and . . . it came to a point where Effie started repeating herself.
Mr. Mellark ordered a midday spirit from the footman, calmed Effie down, and then consoled Katniss. They agreed on a course of action: Effie would damn her cold to Hades and make house calls to diffuse the gossip, using her powers of persuasion and influence. And Katniss would show up to the theatre in the most brilliantly modest of gowns, and keep her head high.
If anyone asked about Mr. Hawthorne, she would laugh it off as misinformation provided by an incompetent staff of journalists. Effie made Katniss memorize every false report printed in the Post within the past six months. Bringing those incidents up would add credibility to Katniss's innocence.
Lastly, Mr. Mellark would steer Kat toward other supporters at the symphony. Respectable ones, people whose opinions ranked well in society. She needed advocates, she needed sponsors, and she needed them fast to sway everyone's attention from the slander, to make them doubt anything untoward occurred between Katniss and Gale. Being seen on her guardian's arm, and in the approving circles of particular socialites, was the gateway to redeemability.
That evening, Katniss stood in front of the mirror as her maid wrestled dove gray satin over Kat's head. The gown tapered to the hips and flared out beneath in layers that reminded her of feathers. It was pure elegance, with a smattering of beads across the scooped neckline. It had been ordered from a new designer, whom Effie had begun to frequent, someone who went by the name of Cinna.
Despite being at her wit's end, Kat appreciated the gown's beauty. Rarely did she forget her good fortune, how lucky she was to have clothes on her back, a loving home, and food on the table. So why did she constantly push that luck with her behavior? Why did she deserve these things when so many others suffered?
Bereft of an answer, she scrutinized her reflection until it was time to depart. Twenty minutes later, as their coach rounded the theatre drive, a needle of fear stabbed at her. A throng of heads—peacock feathers, ropes of jewels, stiff black hats—all swerved toward their ride, recognizing the Mellarks' vehicle. They were staring, staring, staring.
Kat shrank back. She needed Peeta. She needed him on her side. She needed him to remind her that she'd done nothing wrong.
She needed him. So much.
She dreaded him. So much.
A weight settled over her knuckles and squeezed warmth into it. Mr. Mellark grinned at her. "You can do this, my girl. I'm right here."
"Peeta will be, too," Aunt Effie added, in all her fashionable splendor. She hadn't planned to attend tonight, sick as she was, but she'd done it for Kat.
When she was a child, this family told the world that she was someone special, someone worthy, by accepting her into their lives. Now was the time to show that she believed it as well.
It was showtime.
They exited the coach, a picture of unity. The crowd shifted into murmurs, but none of them turned up their noses, not with Effie and her nephew flanking Kat. She heard Peeta's voice in her mind, the words he'd whispered to her the first time she attended a ball with him. She'd been fifteen and terrified, but for the hundredth time, her best friend said she was a star, a bright flame. A musical girl on fire who'd suffered and survived far worse than a frivolous assembly. She'd overcome more than any of the guests could handle.
Smile. Shoot straight.
Don't be ashamed of who you are.
That's what he'd said.
She took a step, and her family followed, and the frosty gazes melted into hesitation. Perhaps a few of them even looked amused, impressed that she'd made an appearance.
As they reached the third step, Finnick broke from the crowd, greeting her family loudly. "Miss Everdeen, you look exquisite," he said, offering his arm. "Do me the honor."
Despite his cavalier manner, the approval of Finnick Odair was a benefit, and it eased the tension further. Katniss took his arm and gave him a grateful smile, parading into the theatre ahead of Mr. Mellark and Effie.
"Thank you," she said under her breath.
"Thank you," Finnick responded. "You'll owe me a debt after this. How fun will that be!"
He waggled his brows. Kat actually laughed.
Inside, droplets of light rained from a chandelier, swimming across the forest murals and deep green carpet of the foyer. This theatre in particular was small and intimate, which she liked.
As the crowd mingled, a handful of allies—Mr. Plutarch Heavensbee, Lady Paylor, Mayor Undersee and his daughter, Madge—dared approach and offer tentative greetings. Kat should have begun to relax, but she couldn't. Not until she found the one person she was most anxious to see. She craned her neck, scouring the crowd for him.
She turned and caught Finnick watching her. He studied her face, then spoke quietly. "Careful, kitten. Anyone paying attention will be able to see it."
"See what?"
"You know what."
"Oh, I get it. It's riddle day. I'm supposed to figure that one out on my own."
"Honey, don't get bratty on me. I'm merely an observant sidekick who's actually trying to be discreet. Or do you wish for me to spell it out right here? With an audience at my disposal?"
Katniss felt herself deflate. "You're right. Forgive me, I'm—"
"Terrible at communication. Yes, I figured that much out." He shrugged. "Anyway, Miss Cartwright is going to do everything she can to keep our boy beside her tonight. Although Peeta's not near you, it doesn't mean he doesn't want to be. Just . . . it might look worse than it is. Don't jump to conclusions."
"Shouldn't you be telling him that?" she countered, referring to Peeta's inevitable reaction to the paper.
Finnick chuckled. "I don't need to tell him a thing."
Kat appreciated that, but she knew Peeta better than he did, and if she couldn't guess what her best friend was feeling about that article, Finnick couldn't possibly. However, she lacked the energy to argue the point.
Along the east corridor, lanterns bled orange over the velvet curtains that flanked private boxes. Tucked away in their shell of space, her family occupied three of the four available seats. Mr. Mellark and Aunt Effie sat in front, with Katniss perched behind them, as she and Peeta always were.
When they were younger, Peeta would whisper tidbits about the performance to Katniss. As they got older, they simply held hands and listened together.
The first half of tonight's program consisted of Schubert's 5th. At the final curtain call, attendants flocked down aisles and jostled across rows, their voices ringing throughout the theatre from the pit to the ceiling. Musicians tuned their instruments, a wild and angry mess of noise bottle-necking through Kat's ears. She wriggled in her seat until Effie told her to stop it. Resigned, she rested her head against the plush chair, inhaled Effie's gardenia perfume, and shut her eyes. She waited for the atmosphere to settle, for the crush of sound to recede into an anticipatory silence. Then her favorite part came: the last collective hush before everything changed.
That's when the hairs on her nape jumped. Her lids opened and found his. A hot blue gaze that scorched her from a distance, from the box on the opposite side of the theatre. He sat behind Deliah and her mother, neither woman aware of his hard gaze aimed at Katniss. A gaze that swallowed her whole.
They stared at one another. Kat had thought she'd known all of Peeta's expressions, but she couldn't say whether the look on his face was anger or jealousy or something equally threatening. Whatever it was, he struggled to contain it, his mouth compressed in a line.
Deliah might have relished this exchange, might have flung Kat a snide quirk of the lips, if she weren't busy clapping at the conductor's arrival. When had that happened? How had the man walked onto the stage without Kat noticing?
Peeta ignored the spectacle. He fixed his attention on her, determined not to let her go. Even if she'd demanded it (Let me go, Peeta), he would have refused (I can't). She wanted to duck and hide, even though she'd already been spotted, but Peeta had never been an easy person to flee from. Not in the rare moments when she'd attempted to.
Wood and brass instruments burst into a shrill tantrum of sound, making Kat jump out of her skin. Her fan toppled off her lap, but she didn't bother retrieving it. As it was, she wouldn't be able to move if she tried. Not with him locked onto her like that, forcing her to gaze back.
The first movement finished, creating a brief gap as the musicians shifted for the second: a slower, more resigned melody that floated to the rafters. Finally breaking their trance, Peeta leaned toward Deliah's mother and said something to her. Then he stood, his solid frame clad in black evening attire. Katniss blinked, watching as he swept the box curtain aside, glanced over his shoulder at Kat, and jerked his chin before disappearing into the corridor.
Anxiety fluttering across her chest, she almost tripped over her gown while rising from her chair. "I need some air," she whispered to Mr. Mellark.
"Naturally," he said. "You'd better hurry if you mean to catch up with him."
At least Great Aunt Effie hadn't heard that; she was too busy swooning over the performance, swishing her hand in the air to the music. On that score, thankfully Deliah appeared unaware of the transaction as well. In fact, the girl stared into the void, as if the melody had taken her elsewhere, beyond the stage. In spite of Kat's vantage point and the muted lighting, the sight proved too unusual to go unnoticed. A trace of something—sorrow?—betrayed Deliah's features.
Kat sighed. Obviously, she needed to have her vision checked.
She hastened from the box and down the hallway, the carpet and distance muffling the orchestra. Rounding the corner, she halted, just as Peeta did at his end of the theatre. One intake of breath later, he cut into a stride again, heading her way. As he did, he yanked a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
Katniss broke from her spot and rushed toward him, meeting him at the main staircase. Not the most private location, but she didn't care. The instant they reached each other, she lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "Peeta, I—"
Gently, he slapped the newspaper article into her open palm. The channel between his brows crinkled, his eyes trembling all over her. Now Kat knew what emotion claimed him: hurt.
They must have stood like that for a while, because eventually someone cleared their throat. It took a long, labored moment for them to pry their attention from one another. They trailed the intrusive sound and found Deliah behind them, dripping with topaz jewels and pouty impatience. That odd, forlorn expression she'd worn earlier had vanished. "I do hope I'm interrupting something."
Katniss saw red. "She did this."
Peeta frowned. "She what?"
"She tipped off the Post."
"I beg your pardon," the viper said, feigning offense. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about. The music's rapture has apparently made you delirious."
"No one else saw Gale and me that morning." Katniss rattled the paper in her hand. "You're D.M., the anonymous source that journalist cited in his article."
Deliah had the gall to address Peeta intimately. "Peeta—"
"Don't call him that," Katniss growled.
"She's lying through her teeth. Those aren't even my initials."
"And they never will be, you meddling snitch!"
Katniss barreled toward Deliah, but Peeta grabbed Kat's shoulders and eased her back. He cupped her cheek and shook his head in a warning. The instant she relented, Peeta whipped toward Deliah, his voice glittering with outrage. "You did this to Katniss? Why?"
Deliah huffed. "I wouldn't dare—"
"Why did you do this to her?"
"You're taking her word over mine, after she lied to you about Mr. Hawthorne?"
Peeta flinched but made no reply. He simply moved closer to Kat, not shielding her like a damsel but rather standing beside her. For that alone, she wanted to launch her arms around him.
"Look at how she's behaving," Deliah spat. "Society deserves to know whom it's letting into its sphere. You deserve to know the truth."
"Don't. You. Dare. Judge. Her," Peeta hissed. "I've cautioned you enough about this, and I've tried to be polite while doing it, however I've hit my limit."
"What about the way she mortified me on her birthday? Was it fair to expose my business, just like that? But her faults are irrelevant, aren't they? She has you wrapped around her finger—always has. The reason is so obvious, isn't it? You two are the only fools who don't realize it."
Pink blanketed his cheeks. "Keep your voice down."
"Whatever. I'm overdue for an apology."
Katniss pounced on that. "Not anymore."
"Is that so?" Deliah challenged.
"You warrant nothing after what you've done. Forget about me; think of Mr. Hawthorne. He hasn't done a thing to you, but you compromised him. You made a mockery of his integrity. You might have hurt a good man who you don't even know!"
The girl stopped short. Realization leached the color from her face . "I . . . I-I didn't—"
"You want an apology? Fine. Let me shove it down your throat."
"Enough," Peeta snapped, pressing between them and addressing Deliah. "Your unfortunate mutual pettiness makes you both even, so let me be clear: I can throw verbal punches in public that nobody would ever see coming—do not underestimate that. What you do to Katniss, you do to me. Threaten her character in any capacity again, and I won't be as refined about it. Now excuse us."
He turned to Kat. "Come with me."
Snatching her wrist, he pulled her from Deliah, storming through maze of hallways and up a set of stairs leading toward the theatre's attic. At the landing, he smacked open a door and tossed her inside. Katniss's gaze hopped across the racks of costumes dulled by inky darkness: gowns, suits, ribbons, stockings, and shoes. A corset trimmed in fur. Harlequin tights. A gladiator helmet. A cat mask. A set of black and blue wings meant to span a person's arms. All of it illuminated by skylights, where silver leaked through.
Peeta stalked past her and took refuge beside a child's tattered cloak. It was the garment of a poor child, muddy brown and frayed, not unlike the one she'd worn when they met. He reached out to touch the cloak, brushing it between his thumb and forefinger, a great sad breath escaping him.
The quiet gnawed at Kat. "Peeta, let me—"
He whirled on her. "We were in the garden, weren't we? When it happened? When things went back to normal? We stood across from each other and made amends, then spent a beautiful weekend together. Everything as it used to be. I didn't imagine it, did I?"
"I have an explanation. If you give me a second, I can string it together."
"Excellent. Because when I want to know what's real and what's not, I'm supposed to rely on my best friend. So tell me, and I'll believe you. That—" he pointed to the article "—isn't real. It can't be. Right?"
"You said you would give Gale a chance."
"And I expected you not to lie to me when I asked you a question!" he exploded. "I asked you if you went out alone that morning. You said yes."
She puffed out a laugh. "So it's fine for me to break society's rules with you, but with another buck, it's out of the question?"
"This isn't about breaking rules! This is about my best friend telling me the truth!"
"I knew how you'd react." Katniss gestured up and down at him. "Exactly like this."
Peeta threw his arms out to the sides. "Kat, how can I possibly give him a chance if you're keeping things about him from me?"
"I wanted to tell you. I would have in time, but Deliah—"
"Enough about her. I'm sick of it."
"She wants you, Peeta. Tell me you don't know that. That's why she did this, because she thinks I'm in the way."
"Of course, I know that! And I've made my feelings clear to her. I made them clear the night of your birthday."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have escorted her here," Kat fired back. "It doesn't necessarily send the right message."
"I wanted to be with you tonight, not with her. But what else was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, maybe spare her the gentleman act for once!"
"She insisted her mother wouldn't attend without an escort. She said not having a male companion in their box would be unseemly."
"Well, I'll bet there isn't much Deliah wouldn't say to get you inside her box."
Peeta lashed out, striking a lamp that stood on a table. It hit the floor and shattered, staying Kat's tongue. She'd never seen him like this.
Bracing his fists on his hips, he hung his head. "I've tried to keep the peace between you two. I've tolerated Deliah in order to curb her grudge against you, and I hoped you'd rise above it, too, but clearly that's backfired. Is competitive viciousness the best you can do, Kat? Is it?"
"No," she said, awash with remorse, because he was right. She was better than this.
He lifted his face to hers, his features brittle and beaten. "Do you remember our first Christmas together? Your singing, the alleyway where I found you, the bread? That was us. For years, that's been us." He approached slowly. Her back hit the wall as he reached her, the span of his body blocking her view of the room, filling her sight with only him. His pleading expression and sweet chin and bobbing throat. "I want it back, but I'm tired," he said. "I'm tired of other people coming between us, when we never let that happen before. I'm so tired, Katniss."
She gulped. "Thank you for what you said to Deliah."
"Christ. There's nothing to thank because it wasn't a favor. Caring for you is who I am. It's all of me."
Because that's what we do. Protect each other.
She admitted, "I thought you and her might favor one another."
He canted his head. "And I thought you knew me better."
On her birthday, Effie had predicted Peeta's courtship with Deliah, but from what transpired these past ten minutes, it was clear that he'd never had such intentions. It shouldn't have been a surprise. The only reason Katniss had believed Effie was because her Great Aunt had caught Kat at a vulnerable moment. Otherwise, Kat would have come to a stark conclusion: Effie had been overreacting. No matter what, Peeta would never marry a girl who looked down on his best friend. He'd never wed her enemy, nor anyone who disrespected her.
"If you believed that about Deliah and me, it's my fault then," he sighed.
This near to him, with his spicy cologne filling her lungs, Kat could scarcely think. "I didn't know that Gale fancied me."
Something sparked in Peeta's eyes, a prism of emotions flashing as he leaned over her. He flattened his palms on the wall, caging her in at the waist, his jacket rustling against her torso. He spoke low, his words sharp under his breath. "Did you need him? All these years, is he the one you needed?"
Under that bold exterior, fear peeked back at her. Fear that she would say yes.
But where was Gale when she was thirteen and fell from a tree, fractured her leg, and needed someone to carry her around until she healed? Where was he when Kat hit her first archery target? Who was there for her, always?
Not that she could blame Gale for his absence; he'd had his own demons to fight. Meanwhile, fate had led her to Peeta. Her life had become his life. That Christmas Eve when she came to his house, he gave up his mother's precious music box, entrusting it to Katniss. When they were twelve, he built a tent for her in their meadow, so she could spend the night there. At fourteen, he accompanied her, without complaint, to every craftsman's shop in the district in order to find the perfect model for her first bow. At seventeen, just before he left on his travels, he painted all her campaign signs when she ran for the Young Ladies Committee President against Deliah. He helped Katniss write her speech and coached her on delivering it.
All the times in between. The times she fell ill and he took care of her, losing days of sleep in the process. Every time he defended her to the snobs of this world. He knew what dishes to cook when she was moody. He knew what to say when she was sad.
Kat meant to answer Peeta, to confess what resided in her heart. The problem? His heat and strength, his proximity, drove her to distraction. The llama costume in the corner could have come to life and danced a jig through the attic, and she wouldn't have paid it a second glance.
Her lips ached. She licked them, which caught his attention.
"Did you need his embrace?" he muttered to her mouth. "Did you enjoy it?"
The questions plucked at her temper. "He's not a bad kisser."
"Compared to whom?" Peeta angled his head, his words tickling her ear, causing a shower of goose flesh down her back. "How far will you let him go, my Kat?" His teeth scraped her lobe. "Do you want him?" He nibbled the sensitive spot. "Would you give yourself to him, and to hell with the consequences?"
They'd both sworn in each other's presence before, dared to ponder wicked notions while in private, and found themselves touching even more freely than engaged couples—pecks on the ears, love bites, kisses on the undersides of wrists, even the occasion backside pinch—but what they were doing right now, what he was asking, wasn't playful or friendly. It was intentional. A dare. A need.
As his mouth grazed her cheekbone, then down the side of her throat, a foreign sensation howled through Katniss, setting her blood aflame. Foreign indeed, yet she knew what it was: desire.
This couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be. It was madness, a surefire way to ruin everything that had come before . . . and possibly after. Yet his lips felt so good, so impossibly good. If he kept this up, she was going to faint.
"Oh, my god," she panted, arching her neck for more. "What are we doing?"
"I have no idea," he responded along her jawline.
"You're my best friend. You're practically my brother."
"Kat, I'm many things to you. But I am not your brother, goddammit," he whispered.
Then he swooped down and sealed his mouth to hers.
A gasp sprung from the back of her throat. Neither a protest, nor a cry of surprise. No, it was a noise that rose from an eager place inside her body.
Her hands flew into his hair, the strokes of his mouth consuming her, fogging her brain. A moan spilled from her as she opened her mouth wider for him. Peeta shuddered, looping his arms around her waist and hauling her against him. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past her wet lips, arching into her mouth with determined thrusts. Her muscles melted, turning her into a puddle in his arms. Her fingers released his hair and dove into his jacket, where she gripped his shirt, and she swore she'd never wanted to shred something as she did right then.
With a starved groan, Peeta dragged his own hands up to secure the back of her head, then shoved them both harder against the wall. He slanted his lips to the opposite side and worked their kiss from a different angle. When he began to suck on her tongue, she lost her mind, pleasure clenching between her legs. Her thighs spread, draping around him, cradling the width of his hips.
They pulled at one another's lips, his insistent mouth moving over hers, her pulse kicking against his chest. Kat welcomed the push of Peeta's jaw as he claimed her, as she claimed him. They threw themselves into an aggravated, passionate kiss. On and on and on.
Just as swiftly, it ended. They reeled back at the same time, their exhalations heavy, their bodies quivering. What had they just done?
"Katniss?" Peeta asked, her name coming loose like gravel.
"Peeta?" she replied, equally helpless.
An interlude of shock followed, then another burning impulse. He moistened his lips, and she nearly tasted the motion. She sensed it in them both, this confusion of longing. And hunger.
An entirely new kind.
Happy new year!
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