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

men look at each other with grim

spot on — another week and we’d be too

"I’m sorry, child."

gravely, closing the distance between

do this if

I’ve ever

screaming at me to run, to get away at any

tell me that whatever these men intend will be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron have ever inflicted

isn’t anywhere

back and two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try

teeth into his palm, but he doesn’t even

the door, propelling me further

legs, and I’m

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

blood seeps into my mouth, the metallic tang

for air and

fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem

might as well be a feather swaying in the

keening pierces the air,

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

with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating above me,

"We're so close."

no idea where these sounds are coming from, and the priests don’t seem

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

thrust onto the floor and

sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool

it’s pearlescent sheen glimmering

wrapping it around my

it round and

arms are locked against my sides and my legs

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

my mouth, the priest finally removes his hand

moonlight closes over my

breathe, though I

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

my nerve endings and muscles to move, to do something - anything! But nothing

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

a moment before drops of moisture seep through the silk and

or crystals placed in

my veins warning me

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

to chant then, speaking a language I do

room, carrying arcane