The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

Chapter 175 — 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.

I hiss, my

look at each other

another week and

“I’m sorry, child.”

first priest professes gravely, closing the distance

would not do this if there was another

I’ve ever experienced

instincts are screaming at me to

be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron have ever inflicted on

isn’t

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

into his palm, but

away from the door, propelling me further into the

legs, and I’m lifted off the

thrash violently against their hold, my screams muffled and garbled as

metallic tang fanning the

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

don’t know what to do or how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem completely

the wind for all

keening pierces the

and pain more complex than the sheer fright in my own panicked

voice, tinged with concern,

“It’s too much.”

“Just a little more.”

floating above me,

“We’re so close.”

sounds are coming from,

i’m nothing more than a

the

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

it’s pearlescent sheen

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

me in the fabric, winding it round and round like

sides and my legs

punishing grip, and soon

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

my

able to breathe, though

is awake but I’m trapped in my own body,

brain screaming at my nerve endings and muscles to move, to do something – anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream

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

before

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

in my veins warning me that I won’t be able

out of time, but I refuse to