Surrogate For Alpha Dom

#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

look at each

— another

"I’m sorry, child."

first priest professes gravely, closing the distance

do this if

I’ve ever

at me to run, to get away at

that whatever these men intend will be far worse than

isn’t

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

sink my teeth into his

from the door, propelling me further into

my legs, and I’m

violently against their hold, my screams muffled and garbled as

seeps into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames

and I’m gagging, fighting for air and struggling to

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

a feather swaying in the wind

distant keening pierces the

with grief and pain more complex

with concern,

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

voice, floating

"We're so close."

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

single-minded focus, and i’m nothing more than a pawn

onto the

the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling

extracts a shimmering silk cloth, it’s pearlescent sheen

wrapping it around my body,

the fabric, winding it round and round like a glittering

against my sides

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

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

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

breathe, though I

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

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

of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For all the fabric’s strength, it does not

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

laid over my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my head, chest, arms and

my veins warning me that I won't be able

but I refuse to give up hope

begin to chant then, speaking a language I do

around the small room, carrying arcane power older than the