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

— another week and we’d be

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the

not do this if

ever experienced

at me to

far worse than anything the doctor or

there isn’t anywhere to

got a 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

his palm, but he

away from the

legs, and I’m lifted off the

my screams muffled and garbled as the priest

mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames in

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

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

swaying in the wind for all the effort they expend to

the

and pain more

deep voice, tinged with concern,

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

voice, floating above me,

"We're so close."

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

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

the floor and pinned

sits on my kicking legs,

extracts a shimmering silk cloth, it’s pearlescent sheen

they begin wrapping it around

in the fabric, winding it round

sides and my legs

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

the priest finally removes

over my gaping lips, locking my face into the contours

to breathe, though

awake

- anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream from which I can wake, this is real,

identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For all the fabric’s strength, it

is filled with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before

objects are laid over my body, stones or crystals placed

electricity in my veins warning me that

I know I’m running out of time, but I refuse to

speaking a language I do not

words swirl around the small room, carrying arcane