Accidental Surrogate

#Chapter 179 — Bound Trigger warning — Assault (non-sexual)

Ella

"It’s all right, Ella."

The first priest says, approaching me as one might a skittish horse — with slow, measured movements and hands exposed to show he holds no weapon.

"We only want to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" I question shakily, my back flush against the locked door.

"You have a very powerful magic inside you, and if it's allowed to come out you’ll be exposed.We can’t let that happen." He explains, using a tone much too gentle to be trustworthy.

It’s as though he’s trying to trick me, to convince me he’s kind when he truly intends malice.

"I don’t have any magic." I insist, wishing that I did.

Maybe if I was magic I might be able to put a stop to the things happening here — to protect the others without bringing harm to myself.I was so preoccupied with this statement that I almost missed the second piece of information.

"Exposed to what?"

"You do, it just hasn't shown itself yet."

The second priest sighs, keeping his distance but watching me with sharp eyes.

"At least not in ways you understand.Tell me, have you never noticed how much stronger you are than your peers? That you can hear and smell things from much greater distances? That you can run faster, jump higher, suffer greater injuries with less pain?"

He inquires, his hawkish gaze searing into me, "do they not follow you? Gravitate to your side and obey you as a leader?"

My head spins, making me dizzy with the possibilities.He guesses correctly, but that can’t be because I have some sort of special power.It's just the way things are...isn’t it? "And exposed to a world you cannot yet join."

The first man adds.

"It must happen when the time is right - but that time is a very long way off."

"I don’t understand."

I squeak, a sense of pure dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

"We know, Ella."

The second man proclaims, "And I’m sorry that this must happen, it will not be pleasant, but it is necessary for the future of our people."I shake my head, fighting back tears.

Their words are triggering every alarm bell in my young mind.I know what men do to little girls under the guise of necessity, the pretense of helping or protecting.

And I know exactly how unpleasant things can get.

My blood runs cold, and my pulse races, triggering a strange new energy deep in my bones.

It pulses through me like a bolt of electricity, a wild thing writhes just beneath my skin, feral and rabid — begging to be free.

my body shuddering with these

men look at each other with grim

another week and we’d be too

"I’m sorry, child."

priest professes gravely, closing the

not do this if

ever experienced before, takes

me to run, to get away at

me that whatever these men intend will be far worse than anything

isn’t

bolted door at my back and two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down

sink my teeth into his palm, but he doesn’t

wrenches me away from the door, propelling me further into the

grabs my legs, and I’m

screams muffled and garbled as the priest continues to

the metallic tang fanning the flames in my already sour

gorge rises, and I’m gagging, fighting for air and struggling to focus on my

know what to do or how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they

might as well be a feather swaying in the wind for all the effort they expend to

pierces the

pain more complex than the sheer fright in my own

A deep voice, tinged with

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating above

"We're so close."

no idea where these sounds are coming from, and the priests don’t

continue with their task with single-minded focus, and i’m nothing more than a pawn in their game —

onto the floor

while the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag

silk cloth, it’s pearlescent sheen glimmering like moonlight,

around my

the fabric, winding it round and

against my sides and my legs tightly shut, I’m

in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping

the silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally removes

second of my scream escapes before the moonlight closes over my gaping lips, locking my face into

to breathe, though I don’t

my mind is awake but I’m trapped

at my nerve endings and muscles to move, to do something - anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream from which I can

strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For all

a moment before

or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my head,

cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning

out of time, but I

speaking a language I do

swirl around the small room, carrying arcane