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

at each

— another week and we’d be too

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the

do this if

unlike anything I’ve ever experienced

at me to run, to get

these men intend will be far worse than

there isn’t anywhere

stronger than I am bearing down

teeth into his palm,

from the door, propelling

man grabs my legs, and

thrash violently against their hold, my screams muffled and garbled as the priest

into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning

I’m gagging, fighting for

how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem completely unaffected

well be a feather swaying in the wind

keening pierces the air, sounding

deeper than my own, thick with grief and pain

A deep voice, tinged with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating above me,

"We're so close."

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

than a pawn in their game —

onto the floor

first priest restrains my wrists while the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag

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

wrapping it around

fabric, winding it round and round like

sides and my

can’t move a muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping my head, as if they

before the silk falls over my mouth, the priest

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

though I

my nightmares come to life - my mind is awake but I’m trapped in my own body, unable to

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

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

filled with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before drops of moisture

my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my head, chest,

to fight the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me

of time, but I refuse to give up hope for

then, speaking a language I

small room, carrying