WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of slightly dubious consent and may contain triggers for abuse, sexual assault and violence.

* Chapter Ten *

The saving grace for my nerves is the fact that the lights are too bright to be able to see the live audience from the stage. It means that I can pretend there isn't hundred of thousands - millions - of eyes watching me, at least in the times when they're quiet. When we all parade out the noise is deafening. For the tributes from One and Two, it reaches similar levels at the beginning and end of their interview, but dulls down as the other tributes start their interviews.
Glimmer must have lost her argument, because she oozes sex appeal, coming across as flirty and slightly ditzy. I know better than to count her out though. There's a trained killer behind her giggly facade.
Despite the fact that her stylist is clearly playing up Clove's younger age, dressing her in a girly orange dress with light makeup that lessens the cat-like slant of her eyes and draws attention to rosy cheeks. The female tribute from Two's sarcastic arrogance is anything but sweet. She reminds me of Johanna in a way, with her razor sharp tongue not being held back at all.
Likewise, arrogance flows off Cato in buckets. He goes for straight up ruthless and violent, commenting he can't wait to take out the 'waste of space' tributes in the Bloodbath and promising that the event will live up to it's gory title. Cato manages to base his entire interview on the coming days and his eagerness for them to arrive and I am grudgingly impressed despite myself because Caesar clearly wanted to bring up some of the gossip. He dramatically wishes for another three minutes in order to "grill Cato about a particular female tribute" after the buzzer has sounded. Cato just smirks cockily, throwing a wink in my direction as he moves back to his seat. I'm still watching long after the camera has moved away and get to see Clove and Cato exchange a glance of shared relief and approval. It makes me feel better to know they were nervous too and to know that they aren't quite as confident as they may have come off.
I keep my face perfectly empty, cooly watching the extremely nervous boy from Three take the stage. The tributes seem to speed by. District Four follows Three and then Brinna was taking a seat besides Caesar. Her interview manages to make me smile, because she perfectly keeps with her image of being completely forgettable; giving clipped, nervous answers. If anyone was paying attention however, they'd notice that her replies frequently included at least one word regular people didn't use in conversation. They'd notice her posture was absolutely perfect and her gaze on Caesar was strong, even if she made a show of hesitating and answering quietly or in an anxious rush.

It's not until the young boy from Six in standing up to return to his seat after his interview that I realise I am next. My heart hammers in my chest and I quickly wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt before the camera can find me. Linden smiles at me encouragingly as Caesar announces me to the audience and it gives me the push I need to firmly fix on my mask. I half smile, holding my head high as I do my best to move gracefully down the stairs, elegantly navigating the train of my dress. I catch a glimpse of myself on the screen and am pleased that you can't see in my expression exactly how much concentration it is taking to walk in my heels. It's a situation not helped by the fact I have to pass right in front of the tributes from Two and I can just feel Cato's eyes burning into my body.
The walk across the stage seems to take an eternity, but finally I get there and confidently take Caesar's offered hand as he introduces me once again. I smile prettily and give the "audience" a coy wave, before allowing Caesar to help me into my seat.
"And finally we have before us, the girl the entire nation has been waiting to meet!" he exclaims, "and doesn't she look just gorgeous folks? An extremely beautiful young woman, with what seems to be a host of secrets and a fog of mystery!" he pauses, dramatically gazing out over the crowd, "perhaps we shall start to uncover some tonight and maybe get some answers on some of the hottest topics in town!
"Now, Rosilda," the master of ceremonies begins as the crowd quietens and I laugh slightly at his introduction, "you look undeniably stunning and I doubt anyone could argue you didn't catch half the population's eye in your parade costume. Tell us, how do you like your stylist's angle?"

It's a question I haven't prepared for and I have to stall for a moment to come up with an answer, because truthfully, I hate that my body is being used to get me sponsors. It makes me feel dirty and unclean and I hate having people look at me like I'm a roast dinner or a slice of chocolate cake. That's not exactly what the Capitol will want to hear though. "I certainly prefer 'tree-spirit' to just straight up 'tree'," I say with a slightly breathless laugh, "Marcella is very talented and I love the sleeves on this dress. She certainly had her work cut out making me presentable, but I think she's managed amazingly!"

Caesar laughs, "She most certainly has, but I hardly agree with it being a tricky job!"

"Thank you Caesar," I give a mischievous smile, "But I couldn't possibly compete with you. Have you done something different with your hair this year? It looks magnificent!"

Well-known for his annually changing hair colour, Caesar laughs appreciatively and the audience joins in, "Charming and cheeky! Perhaps it's you with something to teach your mentor! Fantastic as Johanna may be, a good dose of charm wouldn't go amiss. I hope you don't mind me saying so Miss Mason!" The camera finds Johanna in the audience and she calmly lifts her middle finger into the air, before Finnick Odair on her other side slaps it down with an eye-roll.

"I think we can all agree that if Finnick hasn't rubbed off on her after all these years, she's a lost cause!" I smirk, blowing a kiss in her direction.

Caesar and the audience laugh again and I begin to relax slightly. Until the master of ceremonies starts up again with the questions, "Now it was your last year of being eligible for the reaping, Rosilda. Do you think you can tell us, how did you feel when your name was called?"

"I certainly wasn't prepared for it," I say with a wry chuckle, though inwardly I'm wondering what he expects me to say. "I was shocked of course, part of me was convinced that because I hadn't been reaped yet, I wouldn't be reaped then either," I pause and add in a guilty voice, "Mostly I was startled because I hadn't really been paying attention! The sound hadn't really been working so I'd been busy coming up with an argument to convince my father that seeing as I was no longer eligible for the Hunger Games, I should be treated like an adult and not have such a boringly early curfew."

Both Caesar and the audience laugh loudly and I flash a sheepish smile even as I wonder at how easily these people laugh. Seems like all they've done since I sat down. "Boringly early?" he repeats with a smile, "How would having a later curfew make things less boring?"

I'm reminded of the manner in which Laurel digs for gossip, open ended and suggestive questions that make her target spill all their secrets. Clever, I think of the Master of Ceremonies, allowing a smirk to spread across my face, showing Caesar I know exactly what he's trying to do. "I'm sure I could find all manner of exciting things to pass the time with," I say, making my words drip with suggestion and - I hope at least - a little bit of seduction, "I find that if you're brave enough to look, interesting things can be waiting just around the corner." I give a coy sort of smile in the direction of the audience.

"On that note," Caesar speaks, making me snap my attention back to him, "I've heard some interesting rumours of an… altercation," his eyebrows raise slightly and he glances in a knowing fashion towards the other tributes, "during training. I'm sure you've been sworn to secrecy, but anything you can tell us about that?"

It takes a fair bit of effort to stop my eyes from flicking back to the other tributes, my shoulders from tensing and my mouth from hardening, so I abandon the polite, pin-straight seating position Anariel beat into me and lean confidently back into the arm of the chair. I shrug eloquently and raise an eyebrow at Caesar, "Rumours are such untrustworthy things," I say lightly, choosing not to directly answer Caesar's question, "Although, perhaps I could clarify what it is that you've heard? I wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea after all," I turn my head to smile conspiratorially at the invisible audience.

Caesar looks mildly surprised, but grins eagerly and leans forward, lowering his voice as if it really is a secret. The audience of course laps it up, so I plaster a devious smirk on my face and incline my head towards him. "Rumour has it," Flickerman begins dramatically, "That you started a fight with a Career."

I can't help it this time, even though I know the camera will be flashing between my face and his, I lift my gaze to meet the intense and icy stare of the boy from Two. Cato's gaze unnerves me, it is so piercing, but I don't allow that to show on my face. I simply stare back at him defiantly as I answer Caesar's question. "I wouldn't say it was me who started it, but it was definitely me that ended it!" there is a small bite at my words, which I don't bother to cover up as Cato's lips twist in a sneer. I hold his gaze for a long moment, then roll my eyes and turn my attention back to Caesar who is making wordless gestures between Cato and I, much to the audience's amusement. I raise my eyebrows at him when he sees that I've caught his actions, but he merely smiles.

"And tell us Rosilda, do you have any thoughts on the Careers you'd like to share with us?" he asks and I get the impression he's digging again, "Are they a threat? Will we be seeing any alliances forming between you and them? I understand there have been offers? Several offers in fact if my backstage crew are to be believed!"

I ignore the last part of his question and hesitate before answering. When I do, the words pour out of my mouth in a long string that surprises me as much as it surprises Caesar and I think most of the people watching too. "I think it's always sad when a Career dies," silence greets this statement, but I don't wait for anyone to gather their thoughts, the words are still coming, "They're always so confident that they're going to win. They don't realise that the people they're making an alliance with are their biggest threats. I heard them everyday at training, it was always 'when I win' not 'if', but they all say that. All of them believe with everything they have that they're going to survive. Sometimes none of them do, sometimes they get lucky and one of them does. The sad thing though," I continue, fearlessly addressing the one thing everyone knows, but I don't think anyone has ever acknowledged as bluntly as I do in that instance, "is that they spend their whole childhood training for it. They give up their entire lives, how can you have real friends or experience anything worth treasuring when you're surrounded by people you might have to kill? Or people who could kill you?"

My eyes lock on Cato's again and I feel my face harden as I glare at him with everything I have, "Me? I'm not afraid of dying, because I know that I've lived. I've experienced lots in my life and I'm happy with the things that I've done and the memories I have," I'm close to spitting with anger as I continue to stare straight at Cato, but I force my voice to stay cold, despite the fact my words might as well be directly for him, "I'm not going to disrespect and dishonour myself out of fear that I might not ever leave that arena and I'm not going to do anything out of pity," I add contemptuously, "because at the end of the day, you volunteered, you chose this.
"Problem is, you can't have everything you want and I'm going to make damn sure some of those things that you believe you're 'entitled' to, never fall into your hands. You'd better get used to hearing the word 'no', because I am not going to give in! You can be damned sure of that."

There is a long silence that I don't really notice, because Cato looks absolutely furious and for some stupid and deranged reason this makes me feel smug. I can't find it in myself to regret my words at all, so I just stare poisonously back at him. This isn't quite by choice, I'm held motionless by Cato's burning gaze and am forced to watch as the fury fades to something I can only label as predatory hunger. I don't acknowledge the fear that is shooting through me as I realise I've probably just sky-rocketed to the top of every Careers kill list as I examine this new expression. He's smirking at me now and I have to repress a shudder. It's the same look he's been giving me periodically throughout the week. The one that makes me want to scrub myself raw in the shower and cover myself in a robe that reveals only my eyes and nose. It's the look that makes my heart pound and fire surge through my veins, even as my skin crawls. I swallow and almost have to look away, but then I catch a glimpse of the girl next to Cato. Clove is laughing out loud, smirking widely as she looks between me and Cato. When she sees me looking at her she sends me a cheery thumbs-up and then elbows Cato hard in the stomach. Her reaction brings the hint of a smirk back to my face and I turn back to the audience. As soon as I turn my head and unfreeze my body a deafening applause shoots through the room. It's so loud and I've half forgotten that there's a live audience of thousands, and millions of people watching me on television screens, so I can't help but jump slightly in shock, glancing at Caesar. I'm surprised to see he looks almost emotional…

I don't have time to ponder this thought as the buzzer abruptly sounds the end of my interview. Caesar gets to his feet and offers me his hand, I take it as I stand and he raises it high in the air, as if I'm already a champion. "Ladies and Gentleman! The beautiful, passionate and fiery Rosilda Aspen of District Seven! Seneca Crane was certainly right about you! You do not disappoint!"

I'm feeling a little lost and rather unnerved, but I manage a mysterious and hopefully alluring half smile for the audience and a gracious nod to Caesar, before I turn on my heel and navigate my way back to my seat. Despite the fact the interview is over and I proved that I'm more than just a pretty face with a good training score, I have not suddenly gained the ability to walk easily in the death traps I'm wearing. I consider really hiking up my long, flowy dress, but decide Marcella's wrath isn't worth it. Instead I follow Anariel's advice and take small steps, trying to move quickly, but not so quickly that I fall flat on my face. As before the path brings me in front of the Careers, a hazard that I would much appreciate not having to pay attention to along with the dangers posed by my gown, shoes and the stairs. I'm hardly halfway to the stairs when something so surprising occurs, that I nearly do stumble. As it happens, I freeze in a manner that makes me appear much more scared than I actually am.
Cato suddenly launches himself from his seat and strides towards me. I half expect someone to tackle him to the ground for fear that he's going to try and kill me before we enter the arena, but inevitably everyone else is just as taken aback by his sudden actions as I am. I suddenly regain control of my limbs, just before he reaches me, and take a step forward. This step is supposed to show that I'm confident, that I'm not afraid of him and to prove I'm not a weakling to be easily intimidated. Instead it just puts me in the incredibly awkward position of being far too close to the unpredictable man. We're so close that my chest is nearly touching his and I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye-contact. Even with heels on, he's taller than me. Every instinct of self-preservation is screaming at me to step back, to put a lot more distance between us, to tense and drop into a defensive stance. I can't do that though, so instead I harden my expression and try to push past him. It's almost laughable how impossible that is. I've forgotten that he's a hulking bear in terms of strength to my… wild cat. The sudden comparison that my thoughts have made between myself as a cougar and him as a grizzly, brings a slight smirk to my face that is entirely natural as well as entirely inappropriate given the current situation. Cato's hands have snapped out and are gripping my upper arms tightly, refusing to let me move away from him, every single camera in the room is probably trained on us, my instincts are still screaming at my idiocy and here I am, smirking at him.

Great idea Rose, antagonise the deadliest tribute in the whole damn Games.

Sometimes my own lack of self-preservation or regard for the consequences of my actions astounds me. All I can do now is stay completely still and not break eye-contact. Cato is like a wild animal, unpredictable and violent, yet even the wildest and deadliest of animals can be overcome so long as you play your cards right. Cato has not spoken, nor has he moved since grabbing my arms. His expression is guarded, but his eyes roam my face and body, as piercing as ever, but impossible to read. When another moment passes and he still has not done anything other than stare at me, I subtly try to move out of his grip. Immediately his hands tighten and his eyes snap back to my face. I freeze. For once obeying my instincts. "Not so confident now, are we District Seven?" he finally growls, with the hint of a smirk in his voice. I see red for a second, but can only scowl at him as darkly as I dare. He moves, not releasing his grip on my arms and stepping in even closer to me. Our bodies are actually touching now and I can't help but tense entirely and his drops his head, pressing his mouth to my ear and whispering, "You're mine."

I'm vaguely aware of him releasing my arms and instead grasping my hand, lifting it and placing it on the crook of his elbow. He grips my wrist tightly with his other hand and draws me extremely close to him as he escorts me back to my seat. He's so strong that he can half lift me, even in the position we're in, up the stairs. I'm so overcome with frustration, anger and more than a little fear that I'm barely aware of walking, let alone worrying about tripping over. The audience is going wild, though I'm not sure why because the expression on my face - which I catch sight of on the big screens - can only be described as black. I look terribly angry, yet there's something about my eyes and mouth that hints at something much more. While I'm glad that none of the numbing terror I'm feeling is showing on my face, I look like I loathe Cato with every part of me, like I could kill him right there and enjoy it. I look savage, like a sadistic murderer. With that thought, I suddenly relax my tense shoulders and wipe my face completely clear. When we reach my seat, I turn to Cato and smirk with just the right amount of mocking as I bob a graceful curtsey, "Who says chivalry is dead?"

Cato's eyes flash and we stare at each other for a minute. I know that there is no way he is going to bow, no matter how much the Capitol would lap it up. He stares at me for a long moment, but something about his expression different to before. He looks almost confused and conflicted. Then, just as abruptly as he stood up, Cato turns, raises a hand to the audience and proceeds back to his seat, with a triumphant sort of smirk on his face. I sit down hard and glance at Linden, he looks incredibly concerned and seems to be trying to say something without actually saying it. I frown at him and shake my head slightly as he cocks one eye-brow at me. He looks slightly annoyed and I huff lightly. I'm not freaking telepathic, Linden. He proceeds to make a series of gestures and faces then looks at me quizzically, as if I'm somehow supposed to derive meaning from it. I just stare at him blankly. Finally he shoves his finger at the back of Cato's head with a murderous expression on his face, then points his finger at me, then mimes slitting his throat. Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I scowl at him and redirect my attention to the front only to see that Caesar is looking at us pointedly and the camera is showing both mine and Linden's faces. My district partner is rolling his eyes at me, looking rather annoyed, so I reach over and smack his knee.
"It's your turn Pinecone-Head."

He pauses to shoot me an exasperated look then finally acknowledges Caesar, the audience and the cameras. He stands and moves passed me, making a gesture that I interpret as, What can you do? The audience laughs and the cameras flick to me, so I shake my head in a disgruntled sort of way, before focusing my attention on Linden. He strikes up a playful sort of conversation with Caesar - about me of all things.
"She's definitely a strange one," Linden grins, glancing up at me, when Caesar asks what sort of relationship we have, "We weren't really… friends before the Reaping," my face goes blank and even Linden looks a little uncomfortable, "but I must say, I've always wanted to get to know her."
I want to gasp or scoff, but I settle for a vaguely incredulous expression. Social suicide, that's what Linden just committed. In District Seven at least. "She's always been a bit different," he continues, "A lot of boys liked her, but she's got a…" he glances my way and laughs slightly, "well the death glare for one thing." I'm not even aware that I'm scowling, but I try to smooth my expression over as he continues. "And she's got a sharp tongue," he adds, "turned them all down, she did. Every single one," there's a firmness about these words that gives them a significance nobody in the Capitol will understand. I feel a surge of affection for my district partner however. He's never asked me about what happened four years ago, it's hardly been touched on, yet for some reason he's not only alluding to it now, but he's throwing his lot in with me. I wonder how the people back home will react to this subtle reminder of my claims, but quickly decide it doesn't really matter.

"Probably could have had her pick of any boy in the district," Linden continues with a sad sort of smile that once again speaks volumes in significance to me, "not that any would be good enough for her."

I'm feeling rather uncomfortable now, but I can't take my eyes off Linden. He glances up and meets my eye almost apologetically, which makes me frown. I'm suddenly terrified he's going to tell all of Panem, including all the other tributes what happened to me. His words are dangerously close to an area of my past that I'd really rather not relive on national television. He's stirring up memories I desperately want to forget. I narrow my eyes at Linden, what the hell is he doing?

"So are things… romantic between you two?" Caesar asks after a moment.

I snap my eyes to him. How can he possibly be thinking about romance at a time like this? All but one tribute is going to be dead very soon. It actually makes me sick, this reminder that all this is to the Capitol is entertainment. They just want a good show. It's happened before obviously. Throw a bunch of hormonal and lustful teenagers into a deadly situation and you're going to get a few hook-ups. Hell that is exactly what Cato implied to me before the interviews and what Capitol reporters have been hinting at all week. Anger is coiling inside me like a cobra, I'm going to strike out soon. I've been suppressing the fury for days, but I'm very close to the breaking point now.

"No!" Linden stresses, "Definitely not! If anything she's more like another annoying sister I never wanted! I feel protective of her, and responsible for stopping her from doing anything too stupid, if that makes sense. Although," he rolls his eyes again, "I can't say that I've succeeded. Reckless and stupid doesn't even begin to describe what Rose has gotten up to over the last few days. No sane person starts arguments with Johanna Mason!" he laughs and looks over at me again, "Or is quite so comfortable on a small ledge at the top of a windy building. She's a free spirit, that's for sure. Try and tell her she can't and she will, just to prove you wrong."
I put a lid on my fury quickly and poke my tongue out at him. Though I'm a little touched at the sentiment and by the ringing truth in his statement. Being in a life or death situation? Yeah, it leaves you desperate for any sort of affection. Linden and I had definitely hit it off on a good note, but that was not something I'd wanted. It was only going to make the next days harder. Any sort of emotional connection to anyone in the arena would.
"I think that's where the… er… head butting with Johanna and er… other people comes from…" Linden continues and determinedly avoids looking at me or at any of the other tributes, but Caesar nods knowingly, "She's stubborn to the point of stupid some times, but normally she's in control of her temper. She just doesn't like being seen as weak."

I frown and watch tensely as Caesar immediately pounces on this tidbit of information. "So you'd say that someone is doing a good job at getting under her skin?"

Linden frowns at the question too, looking a little uneasy,"She's in this to win Caesar," he says after a moment's pause, "And she's smart enough to know that to win she needs Johanna Mason on her side. The only way you earn Johanna's respect is by standing up to her. I think the same thing is being applied to her interactions with others too. She wants respect and she wants people to take her seriously, because like I said, Rose isn't one to lie down and die, she will keep fighting."
I can't take my eyes off my district partner. There's dogged determination in his face and I can't help but wonder if he's planned this in some way. He's focused on me his entire interview and I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand he's giving the entire country a much closer look at me and it sort of makes my skin crawl, but on the other he's selling me. He's talking me up and I don't know why. The conversation we had just before coming on stage abruptly makes a little more sense as I recall what he'd said that I hadn't quite heard. Almost as if he was apologising and asking for forgiveness ahead of time. Maybe he had been planning this. It wasn't what he'd gone over with Hillier, but then Linden had been acting a little strange all day. It almost reminded me of the way Fletcher sometimes got… especially when he heard about something someone had said that implied I was lying about what had happened to me. It almost made me laugh because Fletcher got more touchy about the insults than I did. I'd gotten used to them, he still wanted to go out and fight for me. Defend my honour and protect me. That was almost what Linden was doing. It was as if he'd decided he wanted to use his interview not to try and save himself, but instead to try and save me.
"Fighting is something Rosilda Aspen is very good at," Linden continues in the same sad sort of tone, "Fighting for survival, fighting for respect, fighting against people who everyone else thinks are better than her. This isn't completely a new experience for her and even though she'll probably punch me for saying it," he takes a deep breath, "I know that she can win and if there's anyway I can help her do that, then I will. She's told me at least fifty times over the last week that we should both make the most of every second of time we have, but that's not something new for her. Rosilda Aspen actually lives and that's more than almost anyone else can say. For that reason alone she deserves to survive, but you'll see what I mean," he turns to smile at the audience, "you can't help it. She grows on you."

"So, correct me if I'm wrong Linden," Caesar begins his eyes narrowed and his full concentration fixed on Linden, "But are you saying that you want her to win over you?"

Linden gets a small frown on his face at the questions and shakes his head slowly, "If I had a real shot at winning this thing maybe it'd be different," he shrugs, "I'm not going to follow her around waiting to martyr myself, but if the opportunity comes and it has to be her or me… I just know who I'd pick."

I'm doing my very best to hide the emotions on my face, but I'm not sure I'm doing a good job. It scares me what he's said, but it also makes me feel guilty. Linden has a family and a life to go back to same as me and I hate that I've done something to make him decide my life is worth more than his. I don't know how to react, I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do. The tightening pressure in my chest is back again. I can't wait to get out of here, the lack of fresh air is stifling me. This sudden thought makes my throat tighten and I have to concentrate hard so as not to panic and start gasping for air. It's all too much, first Brinna's proposal of an alliance, then Cato, who as usual has completely thrown me off - more than once in the past few hours - and now Linden has blind-sided me too. It's like I've reached maximum capacity of what I can deal with tonight and my brain just wants to shut off to process and recover.

I don't notice Linden return to his seat, nor do I notice as the tributes from Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven and Twelve have their interviews. It's not until the first notes of the anthem play and my legs automatically take me to my feet that I register the event is over. We tributes parade off the stage and I manage to conjure a smirk and a hopefully confident, yet alluring saunter, but as soon as we are out of sight of the cameras, I'm wrenching my shoes off, hitching up my skirt and striding forward. I do glance around for Johanna, but when I don't see her, I march straight for the lifts. I'm the first one to reach them and the first thing I do is jab the 'door close' button. Unfortunately I'm not quick enough. A hand appears just as I start to relax and the doors hiss open again. I'm immediately on my guard and mentally cursing every single thing on the damn planet when I see Cato's icy gaze. He hits the 'door close' button and turns to glower menacingly at the other approaching tributes, firmly planted between me and the closing doors. I catch Linden's eye, but he's too far away to do anything but watch in horror as the doors close on me and the boy who wants to kill me.

"District Two," I acknowledge warily, wondering if the elevator has a camera in it.

He snorts and whips around. Before I can blink I find myself pressed against the wall of the elevator. He's pinning me by my throat without actually cutting off my air supply, something that I know could easily change. His legs stand on either side of mine and his entire body is flush against me. Because I've taken my shoes off, I'm once again much shorter than him, but his hand at my neck is forcing my gaze upwards to where he is standing over me. When I meet his gaze, I actually feel my heart rate skyrocket. He's everywhere. All around me. It's all him. His scent, pine, the slap to the face it was before, has lessened and now the familiar aroma assaults my sense of smell. It makes me want to relax, to bury my face in his shoulder and breathe in the comforting scent of home. Unbidden my body is reacting to him and I don't like it at all. His touch sets my skin on fire and right now he's all over me. All I can hear is his slightly ragged breathing. All I can see is his piercing eyes, framed by sinfully long eyelashes that I can't quite reconcile with the rest of his statuesque appearance. His scent makes me almost delirious with desire - not for him, but for the comfort of home. He's so close I can almost imagine I can taste him. The thought makes me drag my tongue over my lower lip. Before I can truly gauge if I can actually taste him on the air, Cato is demanding my attention. He growls slightly and I snap my gaze back to him, reminding myself I could be dead with one squeeze and twist.

"I've told you before," he rumbles, and I actually shiver as I feel his breath on my face, "Call me Cato." It's a command, but with him this close to me, it's all I can do to not let my knees buckle. He's everywhere, I'm drowning in him and it's not good. My senses are completely overloaded, my brain is overheating and instead of feeling terrified, I want to press closer to him.

What is wrong with you, Rose?

"Why?" the strength of my voice astounds me, and I repeat the word again just to prove to myself as much as to him, that I haven't lost the ability to speak coherently, "Why does it matter what I call you?"

For a moment his grip tightens and his eyes flash, but then his other hand finds my hip. It rests gently, yet firmly there, burning my skin through the thin material of the gown. The touch is almost possessive and while a large part of me wants to pull away from it, I have nowhere to go and another part, that I'm desperately trying to squash, is revelling in the physical contact. I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then drop my eyes to attempt to look down at his hand. His fingers suddenly dig into my skin at my hip and he forces my chin back up to meet his gaze once more. Once I do, defiantly staring back at him, he lowers his head and puts his mouth right beside my ear. His breath is warm on my cheek, but it's the fact that his lips brush the skin just behind my ear that drives me crazy. I'm turning to butter in his presence, as if he is the summer sun, my body refuses to acknowledge my brain screaming that he's the enemy and I'm melting. I remember the way his body ghosted behind mine when he was teaching me to throw the spear, the feelings that evoked and the way he treated me: with respect and kindness. My body remembers that, to some extent even my heart, it's just self preservation screaming at me to move. Despite this the tentative, but growing unflinching certainty that he won't actually hurt me is consuming all rational thought I have left. If he was going to hurt me, he would have done so already. If he tries anything else, I'm confident enough in myself to know that I could fight him off. Maybe it's this that makes me brave - or possibly just stupid.

"Because," he growls and for the first time there's just a small hint of playfulness and teasing, "You belong to me Seven!"

"Are there more that belong to you, or am I just special?" I say instead, somehow retaining the capability for sounding aloof, even though my heart is beating so fast I'm afraid it'll just give out and my breathing is becoming as ragged as his. I'm rewarded for my ability to put a coherent sentence together and still sound vaguely impressive - although my voice is strangely low and husky, perhaps from the pressure at my throat - by Cato's face darkening again and his grip tightening. His mouth twists and he leans onto me heavily. I'm pinned completely beneath his weight and breathing actually requires a bit of effort. Fear shoots through me, not helping the confusing mess of emotions, instincts and reactions my body is going through, but I try not to let it show as I continue to stare at him. I can't move my head and I refuse to look away. I will not submit to him. He won't hurt me. He won't.

"You think you can talk to me like that? Order me?" he barks, lips pulling into an ugly sneer, "Oh no Seven, you're dangerously wrong! You. Are. Mine."

He responded well to my calm tone, so I try to channel a softer expression onto my face as I gaze up at him. I'm actually not entirely sure what it is he wants me to say and I get the impression he's not entirely sure either, so when he loosens his hold on my throat to allow me to speak, I instead ask in a conversational tone, "So what is it that makes me special Two?" I allow a glint of amusement to enter my eye, "Are you threatened by me?"

I'm not surprised when Cato immediately dismisses the idea, though I am surprised that it's with a growl and an angry shake of his head rather than words. He is distracted by something, but his grip on my neck means I can't look down to see what it is. I'm not sure I can get words out of my mouth, and it's taking a lot of effort to suck air into my lungs, so I don't try to speak again. Instead I just wait as his hand moves slightly at my neck. It's not until I realise he's feeling my pulse that I notice just how fast my heart is hammering. The expression on Cato's face can only be described as smug, he's found the proof that he is affecting me and now he's ready to capitalise on it. A long moment drags by before he does anything else, his grip doesn't slacken, but most of the fury drains from his face. It's replaced by a gleam in his eye that is familiar, it's the same sparkle that appears when he laughs. It's a thread of familiarity and humanisation suddenly appearing on his face, immediately softening it to the face of the person who helped me, the person I might have gone so far as to call a friend had it not been the same face of a person who treated me awfully. Is it possible to be too people at once? Fancy Capitol doctors would probably say yes, I'm not so sure. The curtain that made him unfamiliar could just as easily be called a mask. I'm quite familiar with projecting emotions and impressions onto my face that don't accurately represent my true thoughts. I wonder if Cato is too, then I wonder how I'd feel about having that in common with him.

"Rosilda."

His voice, velvety and smooth speaks my name in a way nobody else has before. I am not expecting it and the shudder that runs through my entire body is extremely obvious. Cato is obviously very pleased with my reaction, because he lowers his mouth to the skin behind my ear again. I am hot and feverish and the fact that he drags his teeth lightly up my neck, before growling right into my ear and speaking so his lips brush my skin tauntingly is sending tingles of electricity all over my body and makes my breath catch in my throat.
"This is where you belong, right here."
Right here in his arms. Protected from the outside world by his possessive and protective hold. I loathe myself for my weakness, but I can't stop the way I shiver, or the fact my knees would have buckled had he not been pressed so tightly against me. I can stop the whine in my throat and I do, but Cato must feel the way my neck flexes, because he chuckles quietly. Then suddenly, I am completely and utterly gone. Cato presses a kiss to the skin behind my ear, then roughly drags his teeth down my neck to the softer area at the curve of my throat. All the tension disappears and a small mewl escapes my throat as he nips and sucks at the skin there. I sag back against the wall, relying on his strength alone to hold me up. My thoughts are scattered. Everything is irrelevant and I am barely aware of anything except him.

"Cato."

It's a breath of sound, barely there, but I know he has heard it, because the hand disappears from my neck. Instead his strong arms wrap around my waist and I am lifted off my feet and pressed roughly back against the wall. He holds my gaze for barely a moment. Long enough for me to register his eyes are dark and hooded and that his pupils are incredibly dilated, his expression filled with hunger. Long enough for me to have said no. Long enough for me to have told him to stop. Long enough to have put to use all those skills I worked hard at every day, long enough that I probably could have fought him off. But I don't say a word, I can barely think straight because within me, the same hunger is growing. I've never wanted someone as much as I want him at that moment. I have a split second to register I am pathetically stupid, then his lips smash down on mine, rough and demanding and I literally lose the ability to think. He doesn't immediately shove his tongue down my throat, but his mouth is open and his teeth nip at my lip. Then just as I think I'm actually going to pass out from lack of oxygen, he pulls back. I gasp for breath, my chest heaving, but then he is pressing his lips directly to my pulse point and I'm lost. Nothing remains. It's just him. I'm drowning in the sensations I feel and a part of me registers the irony.

The boy who will probably kill me is the first person to ever make me feel so alive.

Thank you for reading! I'm not sure if the warning at the beginning is justified or not, but thought it was better to be safe. I hope I didn't put too many people off! Please let me know what you think of this chapter and any ideas you may have for what will happen next...