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.

go away!" I hiss, my body shuddering with these

at each

was spot on — another week and we’d be

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the distance

this if there was another

anything I’ve ever experienced before, takes over

me to run, to get

will be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron have ever inflicted on

isn’t anywhere to

am bearing down on me.I

teeth into his palm,

from the door, propelling me further into the

legs, and I’m lifted off

hold, my screams muffled and garbled as the priest continues

my mouth, the metallic tang

fighting for air and struggling to focus

what to do or how to fight them — I’m powerless in their

feather swaying in the wind for all

distant keening pierces the air, sounding very far

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

voice, tinged with concern, joins the

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

second voice, floating above

"We're so close."

where these sounds are coming from,

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

the floor and

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

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

when they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens around me

winding it round and round like a glittering

my arms are locked against my sides and my legs tightly shut, I’m completely

move a muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping my head, as if

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

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

breathe, though I don’t understand

mind is awake

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

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

moment before drops of moisture seep through the silk and onto my

my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns

desperately trying to fight the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me that I won't

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

speaking a language I do not

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