Chapter 28: Blood Money

Katniss's POV

I watch Peeta struggling through the snow as I feed Riley milk from her bottle. I want to weep at his physique - not even a hundred hours in the arena and he already looks so thin.

The District Square is packed with people, and likely will be for however long the Quell lasts. With that boy Martin's death, District 12 is guaranteed a winner for the first time in a quarter-century.

And the winner has to be Peeta.

The remarkable thing is that, amongst my fellow citizens, the divide is not even close. All of the Seam and at least two-thirds of the Merchants support Peeta. The remainder - a contingent of about thirty souls - are rooting for Bond.

There's just one problem: in between coverage of the remaining tributes, pundits have revealed the prices for sponsor gifts have spiked too high. Higher than even the mentors can manage.

And it's clear that Peeta needs help, and will need help, if he is to defeat Bond. Cray's offspring is a legitimate threat; his weapon of choice, the mace, killed four tributes at the Cornucopia Bloodbath. But with prices too high, no one can afford to send Peeta a gift that could protect him against the spiky balls.

At least, no one in the Capitol.

Sometimes, when sponsor gifts become too expensive, the Districts with tributes still living will rally their people together and raise money, to then teleport those funds along to the Capitol and purchase a gift on the tribute's behalf. Occasionally, it will work. Many times it doesn't. But in the instances it has worked, it has meant the difference between life and death. The only reason Finnick Odair won a decade ago was because his beloved District 4 rallied and raised enough money to purchase a trident - the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena.

District 12, by contrast, is new to this. Most of our tributes have never gotten this far. And even when Delly and Gale got close to the end last year, there wasn't enough time to buy them a gift that might have helped them defeat Cato.

Thankfully, that is the precious advantage we now have with Peeta. With him and his last competitor on literally opposite sides of the arena, time is on our side.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and there's Greasy Sae, clutching a catalog in her hand. "It says here they have something called a mail shirt. It protects against weapons like a mace. Peeta could wear it under his parka!" She checks the paper again. "Oh! And we could even throw in a helmet with that as a matched set - for a discount!"

I brighten, suddenly hopeful. "How much?"

Sae checks. "Brand new mail shirt with a used helmet…. cheapest is going for 100 coins."

I gawp. Not even the Merchants could afford that asking price! They might be able to scrap together 60 of that total, at maximum. For us Seam folk? There's no way.

"Don't look at me like that, dearie! We're going to do whatever we can - beg, borrow. Might even steal if we can get away with it. Peeta deserves this! You deserve to be happy, and that child needs a daddy!"

She turns to the folks around us. "Everybody! We're going to try and raise funds for a gift for Peeta. It's a lot, but for this boy, sacrifices have to be made! Who's with me?"

"Count me in!" calls Rooba the butcher.

"Me too!" adds Darius, a sympathetic Peacekeeper whom I consider a friend.

Thom, the Miner Foreman, is also in. Mother, Prim and the rest of the Hawthornes soon join the cause.

"Time to hunt for some coins!" Sae orders. "Scrounge for as many as you can, and meet back at the Hob in an hour!"

We split, running to find whatever gold we can scrap up.

Hang on, Peeta. We're coming.

An hour later, we have made some progress, but not enough. Every last coin that we have hidden away is slapped onto Greasy Sae's counter. Thom counts them up. 48 - just under half of what we need.

"That's it?" I ask desperately. "But there's gotta be more cash somewhere!"

Thom shakes his head sadly. "If we give up any more, we'll starve."

"What about the Merchants?" Hazelle asks hopefully.

"They're divided. The Bond camp would put pressure on our allies to not give us anything," Rooba points out.

"Maybe we should just….. use what we have to buy Peeta a shield and hope for the best?" Darius suggests.

If I wasn't so stubborn, I might agree to that route. There doesn't seem to be any other way. But I'm so close to getting my lover back, I won't just be pressured into giving up!

And besides, I realize: there is another way to get more money. As Sae said, sacrifices must be made.

Close to midnight at the end of Peeta's fourth day in the arena, I approach Cray's door. I am clothed in the blue Reaping gown I wore for my ultimately-canceled soirée with him a year ago.

There will be no escaping my fate this time. But if it works…. I will never have to suffer such humiliation again.

I knock.

Cray opens his door a crack. He glowers. "You're out past curfew, huntress," he growls. "What do you want?"

"I want money."

He barks out a laugh. "I don't give out money."

"You do when a woman has offered you sex!" I retort.

Cray pauses. His brow furrows. "This isn't a trick like last year, is it? You would…. give yourself to me?"

I gulp. "If I did….. would you pay 50 coins so we could buy a gift for Peeta?" With that, maybe I could then scrap for the last two some other way.

"Yes. But…. you must promise to stay with me the whole night."

Oh God. But I take a deep breath and nod. "You have my word."

"Done!" He opens the door all the way and ushers me inside. The foyer is dimly lit.

"Wait," and I turn back to the old man. "What about my son? Why should I help you?"

I fear that he has trapped me. After all, if Cray did not help me and Bond won, Peeta would be out of the way. Cray would be free to pursue me as much as he wished. I think fast.

"You don't care for him. All you care about is sex; a pregnancy is just a side effect to you. Bond would only be of use to you in the Games, but after…." I can tell in his eyes that he knows I have figured out his scheme. Even more telling, he doesn't refute my accusation that he does not care for his son. I decide to sweeten the deal.

"It's a simple trade, Mr. Head Peacekeeper. I earn 50 coins, in exchange for you getting to sleep with me the whole night…. and the promise that I will never hunt illegally in District 12 again as long as I live."

Cray grins with maniacal glee and lunges for me. I whip out a knife from within my pocket. "One more thing: you use a condom, or I back out. Do we have a deal?"

Cray glowers, but he must realize that this is as good as it's gonna get. He sighs. "You have my word."

I smirk, and let the knife fall to the floor. "Done."

He's on me in a second. His hands clasp my face as he smashes his lips against mine. Though disgusted, I lean into him, draping my arms around his neck as I kiss him back.

Cray's hands roam to my back and move lower fast. Like last year, he gropes my bum, cupping a cheek in each hand. He squeezes the tender flesh there. I squirm slightly; his calloused fingers are unfamiliar, not comforting.

"No…. no…." I gasp out against Cray's mouth, pretending to play hard to get, even though I really don't want this. Cray falls for it.

"Yes… yes…." he hisses. My leg is raised to his waist, and I hook it there to keep it in place. Cray's hand slinks up my thigh, slips under the hem of my blue dress. His fingers find my mother's garter. The bastard doesn't even try to find the clasp; he just rips the fabric, splitting the thing in two. It drops to the floor beside the discarded knife.

Cray picks me up, carrying me to a room just off the foyer. He flings me down onto what feels like an old cot, placed just underneath a window. Using all my willpower to keep kissing Cray, I help him undress me. He tosses my dress away as though it is trash, before pulling his pants down to his ankles. I refrain from showing any disgust at the sight of his bulging member. It's sickening how such an old guy can still manage to get it up.

I break the kiss, both of us panting. "Condom….." I prompt. "Condom!"

The idiot clues in and begins to dive around his dresser drawers looking for the lubricant. I sit up and watch him closely.

"Turn around. I want to see you put it on."

He obeys, struggling a little, but I don't dare help him. I'm giving him enough!

I look up just in time to see him almost on me. My gasp catches in my throat, but I wordlessly let him press me back down into the mattress. Next moment, he is sheathing himself inside me, condom and all.

One thing is for certain. He's no Peeta. He's not even Gale. There is not the slightest pretense of gentleness. Hovering over me, Cray grinds desperately in and out of me, as though he has never bedded a woman in his life. I can feel his beady eyes watching me, as if expecting me to show some enjoyment. He tires easily, grunting and gasping with every plunge. At last, his thrusts become shorter, his breathing shallower. With an almighty moan, his sweaty body flops on top of me and he empties himself inside of me, his head drooping into the crook of my neck.

It is just as agonizing feeling him pull out of me as it felt when he pushed in. But then I am elated when I feel the jingle of coins land beside me as he tosses a bag onto the cot without another word.

Not once did I look him in the eye, preferring instead to stare blankly at the ceiling as he screwed me. It's the worst fornication I've ever engaged in with a man.

I sit up, my body on fire. The room is silent. Where is Cray?

Then I see him: passed out on the floor in a pool of vomit, his dick still hanging out.

I turn my attention to the bag of coins and eagerly begin to count them.

45. That cheapskate gave me five short of what I need! Probably on purpose too!

I check on the bastard. He's still dead to the world, even snoring. I guess I'll just have to find the rest of the coins myself. He didn't hold up his end of the bargain; I don't have to keep my promise of staying with him the whole night. I bet he couldn't even last through another round, anyway.

Silently, I dress and then scour the house. In Cray's bedside table, I find two more coins. A third is atop his dresser.

Four short. I'm still four short!

I return to the spare room. Cray is still knocked out.

And there, on the belt loop of his still-dropped pants, I see it: a small coin purse!

This is going to be tricky. But I use my hunter's feet to silently approach. I reach out a hand tentatively. Cray's body suddenly rises and falls as he inhales a sharp breath. I spring back, startled.

When he quiets, I reach his pants and kneel beside the coin purse. It's attached to a small strand of leather. Procuring my knife, I quickly slice the purse loose and seize it, retreating into a corner. I open it and quietly count. One, two, three…. four!

Triumphant, I slip out of the house, vowing never to return.

I get up early the next morning, and force Greasy Sae out of bed so we can get to the District Square first.

"I got the rest of the money!" I tell her.

The old lady brightens. "Great! How?"

I can barely hold her gaze. She reads me like a book and her face falls in sadness. "Oh, girl child…." she sighs forlornly. I wave her off.

"It doesn't matter. The important thing is we have what we need. Now let's address it to Peeta and turn it into the Peacekeepers!"

We do, and by the time Cray and the rest of the district have arrived, 100 coins for a mail shirt and helmet for Peeta Mellark have been teleported to the Capitol.

So, why do I still feel such shame, feel that - despite the fact that Peeta and I are not husband and wife - I have been unfaithful?

A/N: OK, now we are returning to Peeta's side of the story! To those of you who wondered if Cray would return…. you were half right. REVIEW!