"I can't have you," Finnick whispered, pressing a soft, parting kiss to Rose's forehead, "because you'll always be Snows, not mine."
Rhoswen (Rose) Snow is the daughter of President Snow, who rescued her from a homeless, destitute life in District...
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"Well don't jab me in the ass with it," Callum said, glaring behind his shoulder at Finnick.
"Okay, first of all, I did not jab you in the ass, I hit you in the lower back. A hit, might I add, that would've paralyzed you. And secondly, language."
Callum groaned, standing straighter, readjusting his grip on the practice trident he had. The two of them had been going at it for at least an hour now. Callum had proven that he was much like Rose in the ways of self-defense. He wasn't very strong, but he was good at running away. But whereas Rose made some headway by mastering the technique, Callum forgot the moves almost as soon as Finnick taught them to him.
"You're putting too much weight on your heels. Try to center it. Not too much on your toes either," Finnick said.
Callum mocked him in an obnoxiously shrill voice as he went back to their starting position and Finnick this time did jab him in the ass.
"Okay that wasn't the back!" Callum said, whipping around.
Finnick shrugged. "I didn't do anything." He turned over his shoulder to look at Mags and Rose, the latter of which was desperately trying to follow Mags's nimble fingers as they flew over their fish hook. "Did you see anything?"
Mags shook her head and Rose did too. "Nope. Nothing."
"Ugh, you guys are the worst," Callum said, sticking his tongue out at Rose. Rose repeated the gesture right back at him and she heard Finnick laugh at the sight. A bright, crystalline sound that pierced through the muscles and bones of her chest, spearing right through her heart.
"Where'd all that etiquette training go?" Finnick asked.
"Up Callum's ass," she said, watching as he twirled the trident in his hands. Rose could see why he fought with it, it was practically an extension of his arm. He could lift it as if it weighed nothing more than a feather, but then could spear his enemies right through the middle with it as if they were made of butter rather than flesh and bones.
She had to admit, it was a little strange to see him ten feet in front of her, wielding it, after the hoops she had to jump through to send it to him at the ripe age of thirteen. She was honestly surprised no one had found out. She had made an anonymous donation, but everything could be tracked in the capitol. For a solid two or three years she practically had a panic attack every time her father would call her into his office for something. It usually would be for nothing more than to discuss her grades or what tablecloth she wanted for her birthday party. But the fear choked her, kept her awake at night. She didn't regret it though, she never did. She'd rather withstand a thousand lashes than ponder even the idea of what the sixty-fifth Hunger Games would've looked like if he hadn't had the weapon.
Finnick barked out another laugh at her response, one that had her insides going all warm and swirly. She wished they didn't. She didn't like what he did in the capitol, didn't want to be involved in the life he led. But she couldn't stop the feelings from erupting. She just couldn't dislike him, no matter how hard she tried. He was too damn charming. And she was only human.
