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.

hiss, my body shuddering with

look at each other

spot on — another

"I’m sorry, child."

gravely, closing the

not do this

ever experienced before,

screaming at me to run, to get away at any

far worse

there isn’t anywhere to

and two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on

my teeth into his palm, but

me away from the door, propelling me

grabs my legs,

their hold, my screams muffled and garbled as

metallic tang fanning the flames in my already sour

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

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

might as well be a feather swaying in the wind for

pierces the air, sounding very

own, thick with grief and pain

with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

floating

"We're so close."

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

than a

onto the floor and

priest restrains my wrists while the other sits on my

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

soft and airy, but when they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens around me with the unyielding

the fabric, winding it

sides and my legs tightly shut,

fabric’s punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping my head, as if they intend

mouth, the priest finally removes

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

though I don’t

awake but I’m trapped in my own body, unable to move

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

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,

with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before drops of moisture seep through the silk and onto

placed in deliberate patterns on my head, chest,

to fight the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me that I

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

to chant then, speaking a

words swirl around the small room, carrying arcane power older