THE TEMPTING

by D. M. Pratt

  Eve stepped across the crowded entry, through the sunken living room of the old mansion and out onto the balcony. She couldn’t help but feel something else growing beneath her normal nervousness—something beyond the shyness that haunted her whenever she had to face the world. Tonight she felt different, strange, almost excited. The tiniest quiver, gentle yet persistent, coursed through her blood like a fever, hot and sticky as the moist, Louisiana summer night air that wrapped around her. The heat infected not just her body, but also her soul with its subtle, constant reminder that the south in summer was its own special sensation.

  Eve sighed and walked forward. She recognized a few notable people who always spent their summers at the lake; snobbish southern belles and handsome blue-blooded men whose families had lived in and around New Orleans for the past four hundred years. The women were porcelain dolls with expensive clothes, perfect hair, X-ray thin and way too over-educated to be the trophy wives they had oft times chosen to become.

  Eve turned to look at herself in a mirror. She wanted to make sure she was there. Yep, she thought, I actually came. What a masochist. Her reflection stared back at her. Her face was well painted to enhance what she had been told were her best features: nice lips traced with a line of ruby red, carefully drawn to enhance the shape and colored-in like the meticulous crayoning of an obsessive-compulsive six year old, heavy color on top, lighter on the bottom with a dollop of tangerine at the center of the bottom lower lip to give just the right effect of a pout. God, did she actually believe the makeup advice she wrote about in her magazine. But she had followed the rules: flushed cheeks against pale skin that accented dark eyes, which were encircled by black, spidery lashes that spiked around her almond-shaped eyes. Eve looked approvingly, thinking her hair was just the right amount of tousled to seem like she had not bothered quite as much as she had. She smoothed the soft, silk dress that clung in all the right places and straightened her back. She was wearing summer diamonds; as her grandmother use to say before she passed on, “Some are diamonds, some are not.” Eve smiled to think of Maman and her little legacy of faux jewels that she lovingly handed down to her. They caught the dim candlelight and sparkled from her neck and wrist, giving the illusion she was appropriately spoiled enough to fit in with the rest of the guests. She was as beautiful as she could be. So why did she feel so naked and vulnerable despite the cosmetic armor and fashion shield she had carefully donned to protect herself? Something was coming and whatever it was, she was certain she wasn’t ready.

  “Dance with me,” a deep, sensual whisper commanded from behind her. Eve started to turn but hands—no, arms—encircled her and locked her in a gentle but firm embrace. Eve looked down and saw two large, olive-colored hands wrapped around her waist. The fingers were long and sinewy, the kind that belonged to great pianists or master surgeons with smooth skin that had never seen a day of manual labor.

  His body felt strong and tall as he pressed himself against her back. Eve could feel each cut of the well-defined muscles that ran down his stomach, flat and firm against her back. He was taller than she by a head. She felt his breath rush warm and moist past her hair as it brushed her cheek. His scent drifted into her nose. This was no expensive bottled cologne; his scent was one of life, mystery and intrigue. It was strange yet familiar, as if she had known him her entire life. Sweet and pungent, it touched her heart with a genuineness that eased her tension and made her all but melt into his embrace.

  Eve felt dizzy, giddy, intoxicated by him and that hadn’t happened since her first kiss in eighth grade. The band was playing a sensual ballad and with a graceful, fluid motion he took her hand and spun her around. When she came to face him, time stopped.

  She blinked and shook her head to clear her mind and her vision. Eve’s heart quickened because she found herself looking not at a man, but at what great poets describe as true beauty. He was fine; an Adonis and he was dancing with her. His eyes looked so deep into her it took her breath away. They were as pale and as blue as a summer sky with flecks of silver that had to have come from pure moonlight. His expression gave a gentle warning that seemed to demand truthfulness above all else. Have I fainted, been drugged, died? Eve tried to think, to feel the ground beneath her feet, to make sense of the dream she had entered. But there was no question, this was real, and she was very awake.

  “You dance as beautifully as you look,” he said.

  His melodic voice was as calming and tender as a Barry White love song. Again she tried to clear her mind. He smiled at her. His lips were round, full, and smooth and they begged to be kissed. Michelangelo could’ve chiseled his face from a block of warm, flawless travertine. His curly hair was midnight black and caught the candle’s glow, demanding she reach up to play in it.

  “You… uh… dance pretty well too,” she said, feeling like an imbecile as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

  “Do I,” he smiled, teasing her. “I think you like my arms around you.”

  Had he read her mind, felt her desire before she had even felt it herself? The tiny quiver that had been growing inside her since she arrived at the party exploded into a blazing fire that made her certain she would spontaneously combust if she didn’t run away. Her body began to tremble with excitement.

  “May I cut in?” another man asked, shattering the moment.

  “What?” Eve replied.

  Eve looked away from her Adonis to see another man. He was handsome in an everyman, regular Joe sort of way. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, looking as boyishly awkward as she had felt only a few moments before. He had incredibly kind eyes, broad I-would-always-protect-you-shoulders and the most adorable smile. Eve looked at the two miracles who glared at each other in front of her. Oh my God, these men are challenging each other over me! she thought.

  “Mac,” the man with the kind eyes said. “And I’d like to have this dance if your husband doesn’t mind.”

  “Oh. He’s not my husband, but …” Eve started.

  “But the night is young,” my Adonis said. “I’m Beau.”

  “Well according to the MC …,” Mac said. “…we are supposed to cut in because this is the charity dance and I just paid a week’s salary for a dance with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Really,” Beau said.

  “Yeah,” Mac said to Eve with a very mischievous grin. He then turned to Beau. “For charity then?”

  “Just make sure you bring her back so we can finish what we were starting,” Beau said.

  “It’s the least I can do if that’s what she wants,” Mac said, a sly smile clinging to his lips.

  Beau opened his arms and stepped back and before Eve could open her mouth to protest, Mac stepped inside her open arms. His arms slipped around her waist and the strangest rush came over her as he danced her away from Beau. She couldn’t put words to it, but it felt wonderful.

  “I know I promised to give you back,” he leaned close and whispered into her ear. “But I’m hoping we can dance the night away and, under the auspices of the Charitable Belles, make a real change in the world together, you and I.”

  “Really?” Eve said, smiling up at him. “There’s nothing like changing the world.”

  THE END

  ADDENDUM

  IN A PARALLEL WORLD

  Eve appeared on the great stairway having transcended from one world to the next with the grace and glory of a sunrise. She stood as she had stood, time immemorial, draped in the white and blue robes that defined her title as Leader of the Guardians of Paradise. Stretched before her in all directions sat her immortal army of the feminine who had waited for her return. One by one their eyes lifted toward the imposing figure who smiled at them. Her robes and hair tousled by the winds that blew across the courtyard drew more and more of the Amazonian warriors. As glimpses of recognition crossed their faces, they rose and knelt without taking their eyes off of her. A sea of joyous faces looked up at her with gratitude and hope.

  Eve lifted her hand and with it a c
heer erupted, resounding across the courtyard as it echoed out across the land, sea and sky heralding her return.

  “Forgive me. It’s time,” Eve said. “… to take back the power that has been stolen from womankind and bring peace and tranquility to the sacred Paradise called Earth Mother.”

  Another cheer, this time louder and more joyous, rose from the women.

  Evine stepped from behind her. She looked young and more beautiful than Eve remembered. Her shock of white hair, her eyes, one brown and one blue, held a seriousness Eve couldn’t read. The darkness concerned her.

  “Will the Angels join us?” Eve asked.

  “They are arriving as we speak,” Evine responded. “Metatron, Michael and Gabriel have pledged the Arch Angels and Raphael leads the twelve Legions.”

  “You ascended?’ Eve asked Evine.

  “Only in this realm,” Evine replied. “We, who know, become who we need to be when we need to.”

  Eve looked over and saw Delia, grown into a strong and beautiful young woman. Delia walked up to her and Eve took her into her arms.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Eve told Delia.

  “I’m glad you came. We were worried,” Delia said.

  “We are glad you came home, but what you did, splitting realms and coexisting as two entities, is a dangerous and risky choice. Only one other has done such a feat,” Evine told her.

  “My brother is a great Magi and I know well the danger of my choice, but I needed to be human for this plan to manifest,” Eve said.

  “I bring with me the Nephilim who believe your coming is just and good,” Gathian said as he passed into the realm. He still wore the scars he had taken from his last two battles with Kirakin. He dropped to one knee and placed the palm of her hand to his lips. “I and my legions are yours to command.” Gathian rose, never taking his eyes from Eve’s.

  Eve smiled and they embraced. She was his equal in height and their strength was well matched. He held her in his arms and she could feel his love pouring over her in gentle waves as soft and as warm as summer rain.

  “You have other promises to me to keep,” Gathian said. “I bring bad tidings.”

  Eve could see in his eyes, he knew the sadness he carried would wound her.

  “Philip. Where is Philip?” Eve asked, looking behind him.

  “Kirakin holds him,” Gathian said.

  Eve’s heart sank. She had not protected him. A rush of desperation flooded her face.

  “How? When?” Eve asked.

  “In the last moments before your split transition, Philip as well as half the children were snatched away. He holds Cora and Zamara as well. You saved Beau for now, but you must know, Beau walks a fine line and when he threw the sword he fractured your promise to Kirakin. The crack still grows. Now, only you can clean his soul and end the curse.”

  “But my son? What can I do to save Philip?” Eve asked again.

  “He is in Kirakin’s power,” Gathian told Eve.

  “Only for now,” Evine said. “We will find a way to rescue the boy.”

  “Kirakin will teach him the powers of the night,” Gathian told her. “He is still young and may not know the difference between what is good and what is bad. We will all help you save him.”

  “Philip knows you are his mother. We hope he remembers that you can teach him the powers of the light,” Evine told Eve.

  “Can I fight for love in both worlds?” Eve asked.

  “That’s up to you,” Evine said.

  “In this matter, I have no other choice. And I will win in both worlds, because of it. I must,” Eve said to everyone. “Come and prepare. The time is right. The moment to begin is now.”