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 shuddering with these

men look at each other

was spot on — another week and we’d

"I’m sorry, child."

professes gravely, closing the

do this if

I’ve ever experienced

at me to run, to

whatever these men intend will be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron

there isn’t anywhere to

two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but the second

into his palm, but he doesn’t even

from the door, propelling

my legs, and I’m lifted off the

thrash violently against their hold, my screams muffled

tang fanning the flames in my already sour

fighting for air and struggling to focus

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

in the wind for all the

distant keening pierces the

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

with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

second voice, floating above me,

"We're so close."

from, and the priests don’t seem

more than a pawn in their game —

the

on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag

pearlescent sheen glimmering like moonlight,

they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens around me with

winding it round and round like

my sides

soon they’re wrapping my head, as

silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally removes his

before the moonlight closes over my gaping lips, locking

to breathe, though

my nightmares come to life - my mind is awake but I’m trapped in my own body,

to move, to do something - anything! But

around outside 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

is filled with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before

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

the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins warning me that I won't

running out of time, but I

chant then, speaking a

the small room, carrying arcane power older than the