I stood in my simple black unitard, expertly designed by Cinna to cling gently to my body, softening the sharp protrusions of ribs, hipbones and clavicle that is so common among us Seam kids, who grow up hungry and cold. I am better off than most, because I am able to catch game to feed my family. Others aren't so lucky and it isn't uncommon for people to waste away to literally nothing, because they can't afford food.

The Capitol is so radically different to District 12. I'm no longer the Katniss Everdeen who gained respect and friendship at the hob for being my father's daughter and bringing in enough game to keep most people with meat in their mouths. I'm now Katniss Everdeen, District 12 tribute, and famous across the land for being the first District 12 volunteer tribute in history.

Since arriving, I have been waxed, plucked, steamed, cleaned, scrubbed, soaked and polished. My hair has been conditioned to an exceptional gloss and my nails filed to elegant ovals, painted the glowing orange of lit coal. My face is even lightly made up. I barely recognise myself when I look in the mirror, but I'm attracting more and more attention by the moment.

I gently caress the flank of the coal-black horse who will drag my chariot behind those of the 11 other districts, to introduce me to the Capitol. To parade me in front of those who will place bets upon my death, which at this point is almost inevitable. The last winner from district 12 was at the last Quarter Quell, 25 years ago, and he was Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor. He's a miserable, bitingly sarcastic and bitter old alcoholic. But he wants to see me win.

Thinking I was alone in the holding pen, I exhale loudly and stretch out my supple muscles, rolling my shoulders back, arching my back, bending down to grip my toes, when, out of nowhere I feel a sold surface pressed against my behind, and hands around my waist. When I defensively whirl around to see my company, I stop short. It is the district 2 male tribute. Cato, I think his name was, when I saw his reaping re-run on one of the Capitol T.V.s. He's massive, well over six feet, and built broadly with an extremely muscular physique. An extremely muscular physique than I currently can't keep my eyes off, as he is wearing very little. A tiny gladiator's costumes hangs from his hips, leaving his chest completely bare and golden with tan, shining gold temporary tattoos weaving intricate patterns up and down his bulging biceps. I look up now into his face, which is very handsome in a very 'Capitol' way. It's no wonder all the women have been clamouring to get a shot at him, even my own prep team, who spent lunch gushing over the 'beautiful boy from 2'.

His handsome face is wearing a smirk, which immediately angers me and puts me on edge. He knew I'd been staring at him. Why am I such an idiot? A moronic flush breaks out on my cheeks, prickling up my chest and neck. My face is aflame with embarrassment and I lower my face to intently study the soft leather boots on my feet.

"Look but don't touch, Princess" Cato says. His voice is soft and deep but deadly.

Indignantly I look up at him again and force myself to make eye contact "What makes you think I'd want to touch, district 2" I spit, using the collective district pronoun as a way to distract myself from the fact that I do want to touch. Badly. I need to remember that he is my enemy. I need to stop behaving like giggling teenager and focus. In the arena that we'll be thrown into in a matter of days, I will have to fight him to the death.

Katniss, this is no time to be ogling his pecs. Stop it! Stop looking! my brain is screaming at me, but it's difficult to make my eyes obey.

Cato chuckles at my response and moves closer, backing me up into the wall of the stable containing district 12's horses and chariot. He takes my chin and tilts my face up to look me in the eyes, his piercing blue ones framed by long golden brown lashes, taking me in. I can see the appraisal in his face as his gaze drifts from my long dark hair, thick and shiny and weaved into intricate braids, onto my face. I am a pretty girl, so I'm told back home. I have my mother's high cheekbones and elegant nose, the same aristocratic angle in the jaw and the soft cleft in the chin that distinguishes me from a typical Seam girl, but from my father I inherited soft, full lips, big, slate-grey eyes with sooty lashes, and flawless olive skin. His eyes drop from my face, down the long, elegant line of my neck, and he traces my collarbones with his surprisingly soft thumbs. Next, his gaze lingers on my chest, which is rapidly rising and falling as I struggle to maintain control of myself, but my body is betraying me. My nipples have grown stiff and sensitive under my unitard and I can feel moisture gathering between my legs. I'm almost panting with arousal over this brutal stranger stripping me naked with only his intense blue stare, but I will not let it beat me. I will control myself, I repeat over and over again in my head like a mantra.

Cato leans in close, so his lips brush my ear. A whimper forces its way out of my lips, which I bite shut and hope he didn't notice.

"You're purring like a kitten, Katniss" he whispers "I know you can't resist"

"Resist what?" I say with as much venom as I can muster. Unfortunately that's about as much venom as is in a bunch of daisies. In fact, it sounds more like a yelp.

He laughs at me again and I glare at him, desperately wishing that the ground would swallow me whole.

"Resist me. I can tell what sort of girl you are, Princess, and you're nowhere near as innocent as you make out, are you babe?"

I grimace at the nicknames.

"Before we go into that arena, 12, I'm going to have you. And i'm going to make you beg for it" he murmurs it into my ear so sensuously that my knees wobble.

"Over my dead body" I reply, finally with some semblance of dignity. No one makes me beg. No one.

He presses a searing kiss against my slightly parted lips, roughly shoving his tongue into my mouth, and it takes a minute of me kissing him back, sliding my own tongue against his, battling for dominance before I realise what's going on. I'm kissing a district 2 career tribute. I pull away and land a right hook on his cheek. For a moment he is shocked, but then his face breaks out in a grin.

"It seems as if we have our own Games now, district twelve" he tells me with a smirk. We are still to close for comfort.

"May the odds be never in your favour" I say. This is a game I refuse to lose.

"Meet me after the parade" Cato says. It's an order.

"Tell me why I should"

"Because I know you want to"

He roughly squeezes my arse, winks arrogantly at me and walks away, leaving me trembling in my stable.

The worst thing is, I know he's right.