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

at each

spot on — another

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the distance

not do this if

anything I’ve ever

instincts are screaming at me to

will be far worse

isn’t anywhere

am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but the second priest clamps his hand over my mouth before the

teeth into his palm, but he doesn’t even

me away from the door, propelling me further into the

legs, and I’m lifted off

their hold, my screams muffled and

the metallic tang fanning the flames

and I’m gagging, fighting for air and struggling

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

as well be a feather swaying in the wind for all the effort

the air, sounding very

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."

these sounds are coming from, and the priests

i’m nothing more than a pawn in their game —

onto the floor and

my wrists while the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling his

it’s pearlescent sheen glimmering like moonlight, glowing in

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

it round and round like a

my sides and my legs tightly shut,

fabric’s punishing grip, and soon

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

my gaping lips, locking my face

breathe, though I don’t understand

nightmares come to life - my mind is awake

- anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream from which I

priests rummaging around outside the walls of my silken prison, and I strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of

moment before drops of

placed in deliberate patterns

still desperately trying to fight the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me

out of time, but

speaking a language I

carrying arcane