homewrecker;

One blink, she was standing before him, guarding the door, as he’d expect her to do. Cover her tracks, keep an eye on her bases. In the next instant she was gone, a flash of shadows far too quick for his eyes, until finally light flooded into the room from a light high above them. Oh, she was definitely still broken, racing to shed light upon the both of them. There, he pinpointed her behind him, his eyes following the tremors running through her, though they soon stopped entirely. What show was she playing for him this time? One eyebrow rose, arched against his skin, that smirk of his growing ever so slightly as he watched her. He was expecting something good, something fascinating, wondering just what she would do with the man that had run her into the ground.

As if in answer to his curiosity his back thudded against the wall, a tight hold placed yet again to his neck. This time, however, air was readily accessible, which left him chuckling against her hold. Was she going to fall so easily into the realm of predictability? Of so, he would only grow bored with whatever she had in store for him. His eyes moved from her face, her eyes, to the hand that pinned his wrist beside him. Her touch was firm, yet not enough to grant a reaction other than his smile, not making any movements to thwart her. Oh no, he was much too fascinated, much to eager to see what prey was capable of, when given the shoes of the predator. He wanted to see how far she could go, would go, how much he’d rubbed off on her, enough to willingly harm another human being, and savour each and every second of it.

in one quick movement, she sent him flying across the floor, watching as his back hit the opposite wall. She didn't hear a snap or anything, though, which was good- she wouldn't want him to go and break his back on her or anything. "You really fucked me up, Clay," She said, pointing a finger at him. She didn't even know if he was conscious, nor did she care. "You and Snow and my Father. All three of you made me what I am, made me this mess. I'm supposed to be strong, I'm supposed to be a victor!" This time, she started to pace around as she spoke, continuing to limp. Her knees were messed up big time, they still hurt. Everything still hurt, despite how good she was feeling from the blood. 

"You're a fucking prick, Clay. A prick. That's all you are. I, along with many others, I'm sure, wish you'd of died in this arena. None of this would've happened. But then again, I should be thanking you for one thing, and one thing only- being in the hospital for a few months got me out of pleasing people. I won't look and walk normally for another few yet, either. Blessing and a curse."

The feeling was strange, however; was that shaking, trembling from her fingers? Was she still frightened of him, despite obviously having the upper hand? Oh, this was good, far too good, a silent laugh coming from his open mouth. Why would she possibly succumb herself to such obvious torment, if she was still frightened of him? If he was looking for amusement before, he’d definitely found it, in the form of a girl still inflicted with wounds from him, still clinging to her battered legs and off gait.

Her hold was gone not a second too soon, his body falling forward as his lungs screamed, inhaling sharply with a painful moan. It was almost as though it was his first exposure to it, his organs moving hungrily to collect more and more oxygen upon themselves. Both hands on his knees, eyes shut, the smirk still on his face, he breathed deeply to regain himself, though it was difficult. His head pounded, the blood rushing painfully around his system, passing oxygen along. It appeared, however, that his captor didn’t care, now pulling him along with a forceful hand, nails digging into his skin as she directed him. His legs felt weak, forced to move before the other as he followed; one tug to her grip told him that he couldn’t pull away, couldn’t leave the poor girl that seemed to want nothing more than his body as a rag doll.

"What a stupid question you ask, girl," he breathed, still working to regain his breath, his voice harsh and hoarse as he spoke, "You expect me to tell you where that was? My dear, that location is mine and mine alone, bequeathed to me by our dear President Snow. You must think highly of yourself now to think I would tell a little ratlike you something like that. Keep dreaming though; this little show of yours is quite amusing.”

"Don't call me that," she said, even though her voice wavered just slightly. How could she possibly be the one in charge, if she got so afraid and shaky at his words? "But fine. Anywhere will do, I guess." The fact that there was so many abandoned buildings in the Capitol was lovely, and she dragged him into one, closing the door behind them. It was then she let him go, figuring he was far too amused to try to run anywhere. She'd simply bring him back within seconds, anyways.

Using the gift of speed, she zipped around the room, one hand running against the wall, until she found the light switch. Her fear of the dark was still very much present, and she was shaking like a leaf after the lights finally came on. It took her all of two seconds to realize that she was about to get the blood she was craving, and she stopped shaking, grinning from ear to ear.

Again, using her speed, she had him pinned against the wall within the next second, this time one hand at his throat, the other holding his wrist tightly. The hold on his throat was not to choke him, though, it was simply to keep him from moving around. She was sure he was getting air. "What I meant, earlier, by saying you smelt good, was your blood," she stated, matter of factly, looking back to him.

And her voice echoed around, one syllable rolling off her tongue with an unreadable tone, one he hadn’t yet heard from her. Indeed he was curious, wondering just where her mind had wandered, just how different she’d become. The answer came to him in her eyes, a glowing crimson, veins prickling around the soft skin of her eyes; was this some sort of Capitol gimmick, something in a poor attempt to frighten him? The sight only had him laughing yet again in her face, the sound deepening as she spoke again. “I smell good? Since when did you reduce yourself to the level of those that long for me? And here I thought you were so much better than them.”

In a flash much too quick for his eyes, he felt himself thud against the wall, pressed tightly, his air supply growing much too thin. He gaped, like a fish out of water, strangled moans croaking from beneath her hand. Since when did such a small, pathetic girl possess so much strength, especially  when she couldn’t so much as fight him off in their previous encounter? It was confusing, yet interesting, the smile on his face refusing to move, despite the increasing loss of air. His hands stayed close to his sides, despite longing to claw at her wrist; that would be an act of submission, exactly what a tortured soul like hers would want, would demand from him. Instead, he winked at her, forcing his teeth into a pained grin, feeling blackness ebb at his vision.

Letting him go just before he could pass out, she grabbed his arm with her trembling hand and started to pull him along, making sure she was gripping him hard enough to hurt. She had no reason to run, to use her speed, instead she'd simply limp along and whack him if he made any moves. One little hit to his belly would knock his breath away, no doubt.

Everything was heightened, all of her senses. Her hearing, enough that she could hear his heart beat, and her smell- she could smell the blood so strong, it took her breath away. Ignoring her words and not caring if he saw her in vampire form or not, she took a deep shaky breath, trying to control herself. It was so odd. She was afraid of herself, if anything, what she was feeling and experiencing right now.

"Clay," she repeated, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes turned blood red, veins appearing beneath them. "You smell so good. I'm so hungry," she almost purred the words, craving him. Well, his blood. Within seconds, her hand was around his throat, pinning him against the brick wall of the building they were beside. She was too strong and too fast, even with her pathetic, uneven walking- inhuman. It didn't help that she felt so superior, so powerful that she could dominate him. He couldn't hurt her. No man could hurt her.

She was free.

Okay, so Clay was still out there.  House wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, except that some guy out there, who had done this to this woman, had gotten away with it.  That was disturbing, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot House could do there, not exactly his department.  People got away with awful shit every day, and the world kept turning.