Author Games: Vengeance (The Punished, #2)

Amelia's Finale

The world moved before anyone could react. Skies fell and stars replaced the heavens as everything grew loud. Insanity took hold--the beginning to a death song played and the cannons sounded with faux grandeur.

Three short bursts.

The last to die only received three short bursts from a cannon to signify their death. There was no grand, bloody fight. Amelia didn't get to risk her life as she battled the final three. No blood was to spatter across her cheeks and chest. No one was to truly see her win.

Just cannons.

"What?" Amelia leaned against a tree in a clearing, her pale pink lips parted in confusion, leaving her mouth ajar. "What?" It's...it's not really over. It can't be.

Music played and the death song was overrun by fireworks and trumpets. "Congratulations," a man's voice began, "on winning the one hundred and second annual Hunger Games!" The sky opened up from the top and slid down the sides. For the first time since entering the Games she could see real sunlight, feel real air.

It was exhilarating.

It was a lie.

A million noises overwhelmed her and she fell to the ground--a fresh wave of pain seeped through her, equally emotionally and physically. Her wound dripped fresh blood and she wondered dimly if there'd be a fourth cannon. I'm dying, the same as they. We're all dead here, all waiting for the Games to claim our lives.

Shirtless, her pants torn, and her shoes heavy, Amelia fell back against the ground and waited. A buzzing filled the air, growing steadily closer as a tornado of wind headed towards her. Air swirled, taking billions of flowers with it. Crowns of gold filled Amelia's mind as she watched them. A black dot grew closer and closer to the arena where she lay.

"Maybe it'll land on me," she mused. The wind grew in velocity and her body trembled from the inside out. Core shaken, Amelia closed her eyes and waited for it to land. The pain spurted out in waves, throbbing to a beat that wasn't quite in tune to her heart.

The sun faded slowly as it set, giving way for the night to take hold. Yellows and golds passionately morphed into purples and deep, dark blues. Sapphire gold glistened in the gentle promise that was perfect. Silence would make the night heavenly.

Everything felt off as a man hopped out of the black helicopter and picked her up. Dressed entirely in gray and wearing a mask, she had no clue what he even looked like. His firm hands carefully brought her into the aircraft and through a haze she could hear him talking. "Congrats," he was telling her, "you've won the Games. We're gonna patch you up, okay?"

Amelia couldn't feel anything as she nodded and closed her eyes against the world. He peeled off her makeshift bandage--There goes Ebony's shirt--and sprayed cold foam over it. Shivers kissed her sides in delight as it ran up the side of her ribs and touched the tips of her bra. Ice spread over her entire left arm as they sealed it up with what felt like glue. It settled in thick and soupy, numbing the pain but amping her senses.

Green eyes flashed open in a breathless gasp as Amelia shot forward, sitting up and crying. The man didn't move. He stood before her, emotionless, watching. The helicopter started up again and the world shifted, ground fading as they too left the arena.

"Is it really over?"

He didn't respond. Can't he hear me? I'm Amelia fucking Montaigne! He should be bending over backwards--ow. Her thoughts ended abruptly as fire shot throughout her head and raced down her spine. Turbulence took over the copter and Amelia had to grab hold of a chair to keep from flying out. There were no doors, just a large gap in the wall where people could get in and out.