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

each

spot on — another week and we’d be

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the distance between

this

anything I’ve ever experienced before,

to run,

worse than

isn’t anywhere to

bolted door at my back and two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but the second priest clamps his hand over my mouth before the sound

my teeth into his palm,

me away from the door,

man grabs my legs, and I’m lifted off

thrash violently against their hold, my screams muffled and garbled

seeps into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning

gorge rises, and I’m gagging, fighting for air and

don’t know what to do or how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem completely unaffected by my

well be a feather swaying in the wind for

the air,

grief and pain more complex than the sheer fright in

deep voice, tinged with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

second voice, floating

"We're so close."

no idea where these sounds are coming from, and the

nothing more than a pawn in their game — tiny and helpless to stop

the floor

wrists while the other sits on my kicking

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

looks soft and airy, but when they begin wrapping it around my body,

me in the fabric, winding it round and round

sides

soon they’re wrapping my head, as if they intend

silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally

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

to breathe, though I

come to life - my mind is awake but I’m

nerve 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

prison, and I strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For

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

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

cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me

I’m running out of time, but I refuse to give up hope for

then, speaking a language

small room, carrying arcane power older