Disclaimer: I hate saying I don't own the Hunger Games. The truth makes me sad.

Song Suggestion:Marina and the Diamonds- Power and Control.

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Do You Feel the Fire?

"Come on," the boy once again tugged on her shoulder, this time harder. His voice held obvious fear.

By this point, Cato was only twenty feet from them and gaining ground fast. So close she could see the veins bulging in his arms and neck and the side of his forehead. He raised his hand in a position to strike.

"Gabatha, get your fucking hands off my girl!"

The boy released her as if she was made of fire and tried to back-peddle, realizing his deadly mistake at the last moment. But three other fighters appeared behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him forward.

"Oh no you don't, little Gab. This'll be entertaining," one of them said.

They laughed as if it was a game.

Prim felt pity for the poor boy, since she had coerced him.

"Oh, stop it, Cato," she said.

Cato was just about to reach the boy, before he obeyed her and stopped in his tracks.

"What?" Cato whirled with his sword still in hand. He pointed his sword in her face. The tip touched her nose. She gathered her courage, trying to keep her cool. Especially here, in the lion's den. "What did you say?" He reiterated. His mouth was pulled into a deep scowl.

"I said stop it, Cato. You're being awful. Maybe you should take a Manners Class for Little Ladies yourself."

The future tributes around the room stilled in shock. Obviously, they had never seen anyone stand up to Cato in that way. Some shook with mirth, unwilling to allow a laugh past their lips, sensing mortal peril if they did. Their friends beside them slapped them on the back as if to get rid of a pernicious cough. All of them tried to hide their amusement from Cato Carthage, district 2's resident monster, all except a massive male with shaved and spiked black hair—he snorted then laughed out loud.

Cato frown deepened, but it was directed at Prim

"Careful now," he warned through gritted teeth. The tops of his ears had turned red.

Cato had stolen her power, and now she was just beginning to find it again. No, she wouldn't be a victim anymore. Not if she had anything to say about it. She brought her hand up and ran her finger along the blade, being careful not to touch the razor sharp edge.

Cato raised his eyebrows, but didn't lower his stance.

"Or what? You'll kill me?" She traced the broad side of the sword again, as if caressing it. Cato stared at her fingers. Pink spots appeared high on his cheek bones, and when he looked up again, the blue eyes turned molten. "I'm beyond that threat, baby."

This power was intoxicating. It was a heady feeling, but she knew she played with fire. His look burned straight through her. And it was a revelation- all girls must reach it at some point, some earlier than others. Options of choice were limited for most girls. This manipulation was the only power available.

It would come at a cost, though. A steep price to be paid, which she wasn't sure she was willing to hand over.

Prim let go of the sword and turned walking over to the archery station. She shrugged out of her heavy overcoat, leaving her form fitting dress below. A tribute had been standing there with bow in hand, but when she came over, he dropped it and stepped aside.

She picked up the bow, pulling the sting to gauge its resistance.

Gale taught her to use it. She wasn't as good as Katniss, but she usually hit her mark. She refused to kill with it, so she never tried to hit a moving target, but it was the only thing she succeeded at in their sessions.

"You're supposed to be in class," Cato said.

"Who needs manners around a brute like you?" She said, "The only way I'm going back to that horrid teacher of a cow is if you drug me and drag me. Which, knowing you, isn't too far off the realm of possibilities. "

She was pushing all sorts of boundaries, and it looked as if Cato wasn't sure how to respond. His mouth opened and closed at a loss for words.

"What are you doing here?" He finally asked.

Prim gave him a smile—the first one she ever gave him.

She notched an arrow into the hold, and pulled the string taunt, eyeing the target.

"I'm not sure you should try to—"Cato began. Prim released with a twang and silenced him.

The arrow struck the bulls-eye with a thud, only a little off the perfect center.

"I have all sorts of secrets" She took another arrow out of the quiver and notched another one, "I'm here for some real training. I'm still eighteen. I could be selected this summer for the games." She never wanted to waste her time flicking napkins again. She wanted to learn something useful, something to help her escape her situation.

Did Cato catch on to her motivation?

The moment of truth: she glanced behind her to see Cato's reaction. His face was blank, but the sword had slipped out of his fingers and lay abandoned on the floor.

She turned back to the target, lining her sight up. She breathed slowly, concentrating. She loosed it. She felt the arrow whiz by her ear. It hit only a millimeter from the second one. She had been aiming for the dead center, but none of the crowd had to know that.

A few of the tributes whistled low, causing her to blush. Her unusual confidence from earlier was already beginning to drain away.

The man with the shaved and spiked hair slapped him on the shoulder.

"Damn, Cato. How did a son-of-a-bitch like you get so lucky? You better keep a good eye on your girl; someone might snatch her up right under your nose."

"Not if they value their life."

Cato crossed his arms with a smirk and shrugged as if not affected.

"Alright, you'll get your wish. But remember: tick tock baby, tick tock."

He turned and walked back to the center of the room.

It was all he needed to say, and suddenly Prim wasn't so sure the power trip was worth it.

An Hour Later

She wished he was ugly. It would make it easier to hate him. What was worse is that he knew he was good-looking and used it to his advantage.

Prim watched him train out of the corner of her eye. She pushed a hand against her forehead, catching the sweat from dripping into her eyes. Prim sat against a wall next to a rack of knives no one was using. She abandoned her bow and arrow next to her.

He was magnificent, like dancing on water. His arm struck out, came back, his balance on his toes, then on his heels.

"Sword play is about the feet," Cato told his opponent. He parried a stroke and then took the offensive. Step, step, step. He pushed the fighter backwards, until he unbalanced. Fast as a cat, he had the boy on the ground with his sword pressed against his jugular. Quick and vicous.

"More mistakes like that, Nero, and I'll let Brick volunteer."

The boy on the ground frowned, obviously displeased at the threat. Cato slapped the edge of his sword against the boy's cheek in what she assumed was affection before helping him up.

So the trainers decided who volunteered? It made sense. District 2 made sure their children returned. As disgusting as it was, Prim admired the efficiency. District 2 prepared, District 12 trembled.

Cato walked off the center fighting mat. Someone handed Cato a towel, and he rubbed it against his forehead and down his face and across the back of his neck. He went to the edge of the room and picked up a water bottle, squirting it into his mouth and across the top of his head, shaking his head like a puppy. Water and sweat sprayed off him. With two hands, he reached down and peeled off his black training shirt, exposing his muscles and his scars. There weren't many, but a few littered his back and when he turned there was a deep one down his chest between his pectoral muscles. His fair skin was blotched pink from excursion on his chest, neck, and cheeks.

Cato glanced back and caught her eye for a moment before he began to stretch. The lines in his back flexed and twisted when he raised his hands in the air and leaned.

Prim couldn't look away even if she tried. An instinct surged from her, an instinct as old as predator and prey, similar in feeling and just as powerful. The blood in her veins pulsed, and she knew it was desire. Cato was the ultimate alpha. He flexed his muscles like a deer displayed its antler, showing his strength, his ability to protect and kill and provide.

She was a woman, and he was a man-a powerful, capable, and handsome man. In that moment, her biology understood this even if she tried to deny it.

It wasn't about hate. It was separate from reason or emotion. Prim's whole body breathed fire. She tried to push it away.

Cato turned and looked at Prim again, catching her glance. He tilted his head in thought. Did he feel it? Did he feel the fire as well? He once again rubbed the towel across his body, almost on purpose she thought. Just so she could follow his movement, just so she could see it follow the sharp lines in his body. The ripples in his abdomen, the tapered V below his navel. The smooth lines of his shoulders, like the statues in the Capitol.

Was this seduction?

She shook her head, a bit horrified, trying her best to break the hold he had on her. God, she wished he was ugly. Damn him.

Something deep within her thrummed and she squirmed in discomfort. She should be repulsed by him. He killed her sister. He killed children. And she did on some level, but not on the level that mattered to her body.

Katniss faded with time: her voice, her smell, her laugh. It disappeared with the memories. Only impressions were left, simple phrases, colors, the way she poked the fire as it was an enemy. It had been six years.

Her hate for Cato was still present, but it jumbled inside herself, like a knotted string. She couldn't process the beginning or end and took detours along the way. It used to be easy to hate him, so abstract. But now his close proximity disturbed her.

When he took her, she had counted on hate, anticipated pain.

She hadn't expected desire.

Twenty Minutes Later

Cato spent another twenty minutes talking to a small group of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds. He held a sword in one hand, tapping it against the ground absentmindedly.

She focused on the middle of his back. The way the shoulders bunched and separated with each movement of his arms.

What was wrong with her? Prim felt like placing her head in her hands to cry, anything to get rid of the overwhelming emotion.

"Glare any harder, and your face'll stick that way."

A body slumped next to her, pulling her out of her trance. Prim felt relief for a distraction and was grateful. She turned to find the man who slapped Cato on the shoulder earlier. He wasn't a tribute; he looked Cato's age. His hair was shaved on both sides and taller on top, spiked towards the ceiling. His skin was olive, and his nose wide, his hair black. His eyes were a surprising gray. He had the coloring of the mine workers in district 12. His muscles were impressive, and the span of his chest wide. Cato was muscled but slender. This man's arms were so big it would take her own arm to encircle it.

He held out his hand.

"The name's Jacen. But my friends call me Jace. You can call me Jace too."

He winked, and she blushed bright. Something about him reminded her of Gale. She didn't take his hand, so he pulled it back.

"And what shall I call you, hm? Little bird?" He smirked at the nickname Cato gave her.

"Please," Prim said with a grimace, "anything but that."

He was silent as if expecting something.

She caught on.

"My name is Primrose Everdeen. My friends call me Prim."

"Then I'll call you Rose." He glanced at her up and down, "It would be fitting. I bet you'll bloom under me quite nicely."

Who says things like that?

Prim tried to keep her embarrassment off her face. She wasn't used to that type of attention, especially when it was spoken to her. In district 12, the boys knew how close she was to Gale and Rory and tended to stay away.

"How about you ditch a fucker like Cato and come be my girl?"

Prim just blushed, turning her head down. All her confidence from earlier had drained from her body, reminding her of her inexperience when dealing with the opposite sex, especially one so forward as Jace. She refused to answer.

"I promise to exceed your expectations… in all areas," he gave a heartbreaking smirk and waggled his eyebrows, his pearly teeth contrasting against his skin, "Give me just one night, Rosie. One night and Cato will seem average."

She wanted to correct his assumptions. She wasn't that type of girl.

"We don't… I don't… I mean I haven't ever...We haven't…" She couldn't get the word out.

"Fucked?" The word rolled off his tongue with a sensual tilt.

Prim nodded her head, wanting to melt into the ground away from the uncomfortable conversation.

Jace's eyes rounded. He looked surprised, but still pleased.

"Hm, this is interesting." He eyed her for a moment, as if assessing the situation. "Cato doesn't date without fucking. Well, to be fair, he doesn't date. He just fucks. Which makes this even more compelling."

"Well, I'm not that type of girl," she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I can see that," he smirked. "It's a good thing, Rose. It really is. My advice: don't give it to a fuck up like Cato. He's just a lucky asshole. He doesn't deserve a Rose like you."

"Let me guess—and you do?"

Jace looked like he was amused.

"Far from it, Rosie dear, I'm the wolf your mother warned you about. I don't deserve a damn thing, but I'll steal it fast enough. You should stay far away…but, if you want to come closer…" He leaned in, inching his fingers over to touch her legs. She scooted several feet down, trying to get away. "I promise to bite. In places that'll make you moan my name like a song."

She had never heard anyone talk like that. It shocked her. She always disparaged girls who fell to tricks like his. But, she had to admit, she was curious in a disgusted way. She couldn't stop the blush and hated it as it heated her face. She wished she had Katniss' coloring. Her fair skin showed every emotion.

"You're skittish like a colt. Here," he raised his hands and returned to his position. "No touching until you beg, I promise," he said this as if she would, in fact, beg. "Friends until then?"

Prim looked into his grey eyes and nodded.

"So are you and golden boy, dating? I mean, from what you told me, it must not be that serious."

"No—"

A shadow fell over them.

"We are," Cato said, leaning over them with a menacing scowl.

"Your girl seems to think otherwise."

Jace smirked at Cato. They eyed each other as rivals. Under the surface, tension brimmed.

"I've claimed Manato. It doesn't matter what she thinks. And we both know she wouldn't be able to get away."

Jace's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline; he brought his legs up in a comfortable position and threw his arm over a knee, legs spread in confidence.

"So little Cato is ready for some big boy responsibilities. Never thought I'd see the day you'd claim Manato. I thought you hated it after Helena and Plato."

Cato's whole demeanor tensed up.

"I've found its advantages." His words came out clipped. "Like this for instance—come on little bird, get up."

"I don't want to."

Cato snarled and gripped the side of her arm, yanking her to her feet.

Cato turned his snarl to Jace.

"I never want to see you talking to her again. You know the consequences if you do."

"Actually, there aren't any consequences as of yet. Maybe from you, but not legally. Nothing's been claimed, has it? Not truly." The last word rolled off Jace's lips. "There's nothing stopping her from leaping into my arms. Or from me taking what I want."

Cato narrowed his eyes and turned his icy stare to Prim.

"What did you tell him?"

Jace snorted.

"Don't antagonize little Rose. It's so obvious a blind man could see through it. What's the matter, huh? Not man enough to follow through? Like I said before, you better seal the deal or you should keep a tight grip on your girl before someone stronger, smarter, and better snatches her away."

"Good thing someone like that doesn't exist. Remember, Hartline, this is my world; I'll be fucking stopping you. Don't you forget on whose ground you stand. Tread carefully."

"Threat noted." Jace nodded his head at him.

"Walk with me." He didn't give the option not to, tugging her along behind him.

She glanced back at Jace. His smirk still graced his lips as if what Cato said changed nothing. He kissed the air and gave her a wink, eyes twinkling in amusement.