Accidental Surrogate Chapter 373

– Burn Out

Roger

Less time probably passes than it feels like. Because it feels like hours of being seared by fire, of
the Priest hurling spells at us.

And it’s not fire alone – it’s flames first, and then slicing spells that cut at us, and then wind – and
ice – and something that feels like acid in the air that creeps into our lungs and makes us hack –

But slowly, slowly he burns himself out. And our men fall, screaming. But in the end, it’s me who
prowls towards him in my wolf’s body, ignoring the aches and pains that come with every step. It’s
me.

I step over my brother’s limp form, doing my best to ignore the fact that what breaths pulse from
Dominic’s lips are short and shallow. That his eyes are shut, that whole swathes of his skin are
burned away.

I only have eyes for him, this cornered Priest, at the end of this. Because it is the end. And I have
him trapped.

Then, because I want him to see me in a form he can understand, I shift back into my human body,
wincing as I do so, as the pains of my flesh reform themselves on hands instead of paws, on my
legs instead of my haunches.

“Tell me” I command, as I stand before him, cowered in his corner.

“I will tell you noth-”

But I roar, allowing my nails to arc into claws that I slash across his face, opening four deep wounds
across his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He shrieks in pain and covers his face before looking up at
me.

“You will tell me,” I continue, crouching down in front of him, unblinking in my determination and my
fury. “Because while you may be prepared to die for your god,” I say, holding up my hands so he



can see my weapons there, “I don’t think that your little order prepared you for days, weeks, or
months of torture. Little priest.”

And his eyes shift then to focus on my claws as the blood drips down his face. As he realizes what
I’m saying. That he is going to die But when?

That’s up to me.

“Tell me,” I say again, gentler this time.

“I already did,” the priest grinds out, finding a little more courage and hate in himself as he snarls
the words at me, as he winces at the feel of his face shifting when he speaks, at the new pain there.
“I told you the master is gone-”

Quickly, before he can see me move, I rip my claws again over his face – raking some in the fresh
wounds I just placed there, but also opening some new ones for good measure.

He screams, then, at the pain of it, his hands flying to cover his wounds. But I slash at those next,
letting my claws cut deep, severing several fingers and slicing deep into the tendons of his hand so
that they are useless to him now – for the rest of his short life.

The Priest screams again, falling flat to the floor next to the curled forms of his sliced fingers,
staring up at his mangled hands.

“TELL ME!” I roar, leaning over him now, “Or by your God’s own name I will do it AGAIN! And I will
keep doing it until you are nothing but SHREDS OF WHAT YOU ONCE WERE!”

The priest trembles as he looks up at me, in so much pain now that I don’t know if his words are
shaking in shock or fear or…something else. But I have every reason to believe they’re honest.He
no longer has any reason to lie.

“He’s gone, he has the child – ”

“Where,” I command, but the priest cries out in fear now, working to cover his face again but only
succeeding in leaking blood all over himself.

“I don’t know!” he cries. “He didn’t tell us!”



“What does he have!?” I command, shoving the priest’s hands away from his face so that I can look
down on him again. “More priests? More defenses!?”

“Nothing,” he moans, shaking his head. “We were – we were the last we were supposed to hold you
here – “he grits his teeth now, finding some level. of frustration in this, almost not believing that we
found a way to defy his spells. “I don’t know how you got through it -”

But I don’t let him finish – because frankly, I don’t care. Instead, I raise a fist to shoulder height and
then smash it, again and again, into the Priest’s clenched teeth, reducing his face to a bloody,
gurling pulp.

And then, to make sure the job is done, I use my claws to cut his throat, watching as the blood
flows quick. And then, as his hands fall limp at his side, I open the veins at his wrists to hasten his
death.

I want to spend no more time with this wretch of a man, who dedicated his life to darkness. For
what? For the chance to wield some spells? To feel, for a moment, that he was powerful in stealing
a helpless child?

Disgusted, I turn back to the hall filled with our men. And I can tell the moment that the priest dies.
Because there is an almost audible click as the magic leaves the house. I don’t know what it was –
wards to tell him where we were? Further protections? It doesn’t matter. But I know, instantly, that
everything is gone. That it is now, again…just a house.

At the end of the hall, a form staggers to his feet and I recognize Conor as he moves towards me.

“Sir,” he says, limping a little and holding his left arm close to his body. ” Orders?”

I nod to him, a surge of gratitude pulsing through me for such a dedicated soldier, who wants to
complete the mission even while he’s hurt. “Sweep the rooms,” I command, my eyes already
moving to Dominic, my true priority here. “The priest claimed his master was gone. We need to
ensure that it’s true. Take…whoever you can,” I say, moving to Dominic as I finish giving the order.



“Yes, Sir,” Conor replies, doing his best to salute and then moving towards the handful of men who I
can see getting to their feet. I notice, passively, that it’s… a much smaller number than I would have
hoped.

But I don’t have time for that now. Instead, I kneel over Dominic, who is laying on his side. When I
push at his shoulder and turn him onto his back, Dominic gives a heavy groan. I grimace to see that
his face has been sliced and burned – so badly that…god, it hurts even to look at him.

“Dominic,” I murmur, leaning close, wanting – desperately – for him to respond. “Dominic – come on
-”

And, to my immense relief, his eyes flutter open.

“Ella,” he mutters, working to sit up, and I roll my eyes a little because – I mean, honestly, all I’m
thinking about right now is Cora too, but obviously I can’t get Dominic to Ella until we assess how
badly he’s hurt. I make a soothing noise and press against his shoulder, obliging him to lay back
against the floor.

“Easy,” I murmur. “Let me check you out, all right?”

Dominic, coming back to himself a little, nods, and then groans as it hurts him somehow. I begin my
routine survey of his wounds, checking for the worst, the battlefield medic training we all go through
kicking in.

But even with my limited training, I can tell that…it’s bad.

It’s really, really bad.



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