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.

away!" I hiss, my body shuddering with

men look at each other with

was spot on — another week and we’d be

"I’m sorry, child."

priest professes gravely, closing

not do this

unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, takes over my

to run,

these men intend will be far worse

isn’t anywhere

I am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but the second priest clamps his

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

the door,

man grabs my legs, and I’m

my screams muffled and garbled

blood seeps into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames

and I’m gagging, fighting for air and struggling to focus

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

a feather swaying in the wind for all the effort they

keening pierces the air, sounding

own, thick with grief and pain more complex than

voice, tinged with

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating

"We're so close."

idea where these sounds are coming from, and the priests don’t seem to hear them at

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

thrust onto the floor

on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag

extracts a shimmering silk cloth, it’s pearlescent sheen glimmering like moonlight, glowing in

when they begin wrapping it around my

winding it round and round like

sides

move a muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon

before the silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally removes his hand from my

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

able to breathe, though I don’t understand

one of my nightmares come to life - my mind is awake but

motionless, my brain screaming at my nerve endings and muscles to move, to do something - anything! But nothing

can hear the priests rummaging around outside the walls of my silken prison, and I strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For all the fabric’s strength, it does not stop me from feeling or

fragrance a moment before drops of

stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my

my veins warning

but I refuse

begin to chant then, speaking a language I do not

swirl around the small room, carrying arcane power older than the