PROLOGUE
A/N: Hey guys, welcome to Cruel Games! Sorry this prologue is so short, but don't worry - more coming soon!
Praetor Lawson had been known that one of the kids from District 2 would have won. He would've preferred Aloe Templare. He had thought very highly of Aloe. They'd even kissed once, but he knew that had been a mistake even at the time. There was no point getting attached to tributes, because even though District 2 had the highest winning rate in the Hunger Games, many often died.
Dain Winters…where to start? Praetor had never wanted Dain to win – because who wanted a psychopathic victor? There were already enough to go around. Praetor's mouth curled in disgust at the thought of the violent, sadistic tribute. He had gone out of his way to torture the other tributes and that had nearly been his undoing. He had managed to finish off the last few tributes all too quickly.
Praetor hated the Games, hated them more than anything else. He was only eighteen, but he'd already seen enough blood, gore and pain to last him a lifetime. In the 24th Hunger Games, sixteen-year-old Praetor had won by slitting the throat of the girl from District 7. It was a thought that still haunted him. He may have been cold and calculated about killing at the time, but two years later, the nightmares plagued him.
Reaping Day was soon. Praetor shuddered at the thought of mentoring more tributes, tributes that would most likely die. The Careers volunteered for honour and glory – Praetor knew this, because that was why he'd done it. The only difference was, he'd succeeded.
Praetor knew well enough that no victor had truly survived the Games unchanged. In all cases, a part of them had died in the arena – whether it was their morals, their spirit or their sanity. The Games had ruined Praetor's life. Because of them, he had come back as a shell of the boy he'd once been. Last year it had been terrible because they'd been voted for – so really after the Quarter Quell, things could only get better, right?
Wrong.
