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.

my body

each other with grim

another week and we’d

"I’m sorry, child."

professes gravely,

not do this if

terror, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced

at me to run, to

worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron have

isn’t anywhere to

larger and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but

sink my teeth into his palm,

me away from the door, propelling

my legs, and I’m lifted off the

my screams muffled

seeps into my mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames in my already

and I’m gagging, fighting for air and struggling

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

swaying in the wind for all the effort they expend

distant keening pierces the air, sounding

thick with grief and pain more complex than the sheer fright in my

A deep voice, tinged with concern, joins the

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

second voice, floating above me,

"We're so close."

where these sounds are coming from, and the priests don’t seem to hear them at

more than a pawn in

onto the floor and pinned

on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag to

pearlescent sheen glimmering like moonlight, glowing in the

looks soft and airy, but when they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens

fabric, winding it round and round like

arms are locked against my sides and

can’t move a muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon

the silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally

the moonlight closes over my

to breathe, though I don’t

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

brain screaming at 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, this is

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 not stop me from feeling or

is filled with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before drops of moisture

objects are 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 to fight much

of time, but I refuse to

begin to chant then, speaking a language I

small room, carrying