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

spot on — another

"I’m sorry, child."

gravely, closing the distance

do this

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

to run,

me that whatever these men intend will be far worse than

there isn’t

far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try to scream,

into his palm, but he doesn’t even

wrenches me away from the door,

man grabs my legs, and I’m lifted off the

screams muffled and garbled

into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames in

rises, and I’m gagging, fighting for air

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

feather swaying in the wind for all the effort they

pierces the air, sounding

are deeper than my own, thick with grief and pain more complex than the sheer

deep voice, tinged with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating

"We're so close."

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

onto the floor and pinned

the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool

extracts a shimmering silk cloth, it’s pearlescent

they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens around

winding it

are locked against my sides and my legs tightly shut,

muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon

the priest

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

though I don’t understand

is awake but

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

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

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

over my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on

electricity in my veins

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

priests begin to chant then, speaking a language

room, carrying arcane