Divine Temptation

by Nicki Elson

  Sarto smirked, moving closer, and Maggie’s insides burned hotter with his every step.

  “You did well to call me,” Sarto said.

  When Father Tom spoke, his voice quavered with uncertainty. “You promised not to hurt her.”

  “I promised to take care of her,” Sarto sneered. “Which I fully intend to do.”

  “With a witness present,” Father Tom said, the threat in his voice unmistakable. “Stop!” he ordered, halting Sarto’s footsteps. The priest’s hold on Maggie’s arms slackened. “If you move another inch, I’ll let her go and throw myself in your way.”

  Sarto raised an eyebrow. “Really?” His smooth confidence didn’t waver. “I suppose this means you no longer wish to keep your secret?”

  “My secret be damned!” Father Tom shouted. “I don’t know how I ever let you persuade me.” His hands shifted on Maggie, and he spun her around to face him. Gripping her biceps, he fixed his gaze beseechingly into her eyes. “I should’ve told you after you’d stumbled upon us in the church that night. The night I smashed the altar candle. I knew then it was beyond my control. I’m so sorry, Maggie. I honestly thought the less you knew, the safer you’d be.”

  “Telling her now won’t do her any good,” Sarto called across the ten feet that separated them. But Maggie noticed he didn’t chance a step closer.

  Father Tom continued, his focus only on Maggie. “When you told me about the angel, I was afraid, so afraid it was him. He’d appeared to me as a regular man, always approaching when no one else was around, pretending he needed to talk, feigning interest in joining our congregation, but in reality he was manipulating me into doing the talking. He let me vent on and on about the monsignor’s continuous blows to my precious pride—he encouraged it, fed my frustration. And then he offered to help me. When he was pleased that I’d answered his questions without posing any of my own, he hinted that it was within his power to lessen my woes. The monsignor suddenly eased up, even left town for a few weeks.”

  Maggie’s eyes flicked to the monsignor. His expression grew darker as he listened to the tale.

  “That’s when I couldn’t lie to myself anymore,” Father Tom said. “This was no mere parishioner, and the monsignor’s change in attitude toward me was no coincidence. But I didn’t understand his true nature, nor did I see the harm in continuing on…ah, the lies we tell ourselves. It was only when you spoke of the angel—and I instantly felt the grasp of fear—that I allowed myself to recognize this visitor as something evil. Putting myself into his hands was one thing, but I couldn’t allow it to happen to anyone else. So I introduced you to Raymond; I thought I could keep you safe that way.”

  The revelations were hitting Maggie fast, and her mind was ticking. She kept her focus on Father Tom, the man she’d trusted—the man she still trusted as he clearly proved he was on her side. “When Ray broke up with me for the other woman, he said it was like an angel sent her.”

  Father Tom nodded. “He was an angel at one point.”

  “This is a delightful walk down memory lane,” Sarto said. “But it’s not why I’m here—why you asked me to come here.”

  Thomas turned to his superior. “I asked because I hoped you’d show her mercy.”

  “Mercy isn’t exactly what I’m known for.” Sarto’s upper lip twitched.

  “She doesn’t deserve this,” Father Tom pleaded.

  “It’s too late!” Sarto shouted. “There is nothing to save her now. I granted you your freedom that night at the altar, but she’s given herself completely to the darkness, harbors its newest prince in her womb. I can’t release her from what she herself has permanently chosen, and why would I?”

  The priest’s hold on Maggie slackened. “There has to be another way,” he said with no hope evident in his deflated voice.

  “There isn’t.” Sarto’s tone had calmed and he sounded almost compassionate. “If there was another way, I’d take it. But handing her over to me is the only merciful thing to do for humanity at large. You know what will happen otherwise.”

  Father Tom dropped to his knees and began reciting prayers, rocking as he murmured at Maggie’s feet. Although she couldn’t understand his words, she knew he was praying for her soul, begging she surmised by the sounds of his whimpers. She was warm despite the frigid air all around her, and the simmering in her gut jabbed as she watched the priest, her initial wave of gratitude for his intercessions mutating into revulsion. The heat moved, burning her diaphragm, her lungs, and winding its way up her esophagus, ultimately releasing in a low hiss as she bent over the pastor.

  He halted his praying to look up at her, and pushed back, sitting on the frozen forest floor with his knees bent in front of him. Maggie watched a flash of fear race through his eyes, but he clasped his hands together and bent his head, resuming his entreaty.

  “Spoken like a true bride of Satan,” Sarto said, his voice taking on a predatory quality, one that, despite all his previous unpleasantness, Maggie had never heard from him before. Tearing her attention from Father Tom, she saw that the monsignor was smiling. A beam of moonlight reflected off the surface of a long, slender object in his hand, held close to his hip. “You were under my nose the whole time. Always playing the good girl. But when it came down to it, you didn’t even put up a fight, did you?” His lip curled, and he took a step toward Maggie, twisting the object so that she could clearly see it was a dagger.

  A clammy sweat cooled the heat that had been overtaking Maggie. She flicked a glance toward Father Tom, whose eyes remained closed while he prayed like mad, oblivious to Sarto’s approach.

  “Father Tom!” she shouted, but he didn’t respond. “Please!” She bent over the priest, sliding her hands into his armpits, trying to pull him up. “At least save yourself.”

  This time he acknowledged her, but didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Magdelyn. It’s over, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He returned to his prayers, openly weeping.

  “You needn’t worry on his behalf,” Sarto informed her. “You’re the only one I’m interested in. The entire reason I came here, as it turns out.”

  She let Father Tom go and stood up straight, taking a step back. Sarto moved closer. His voice was steady, but his sharp features twitched. He looked half deranged, teetering at the loss of control. Everything inside Maggie screamed and flared, urging her to run, to get as far away as possible. But where would she go? She couldn’t get away from what had been implanted inside her.

  As she witnessed the monsignor’s intensity, his mad desire to get to her, she thought back to the burning passion of the night before and wondered if it had been Sarto in another form. Her body revolted at the thought, and she doubled over, retching.

  He stopped his approach, at least showing the consideration of letting her get sick in peace. She spit out the final strings, but stayed bent double, refusing to look at him. When she spoke, she was careful to keep her tone deferential, hoping to appeal to any soft side he might have. “I’m not the one you want. It was all a mistake—I wasn’t willing. I didn’t want this.”

  “Liar!” Sarto shouted, his voice bouncing off the black tree trunks surrounding them, making Maggie jump and straighten as her instinct for survival forced her to keep an eye on him. “This couldn’t be done without your permission. Where did you think playing with angels was going to get you? Stupid, arrogant, human girl. Don’t ask for my pity.”

  He closed the distance between them and smacked the backside of his hand across her cheek, sending her stumbling. Swiftly, he jumped forward and caught her throat in his grip with a sure strength belied by his slim physique.

  Maggie’s insides flamed. Strangely, she was no longer frightened. Why should she be? She could crack this weakling in two and toss him away like garbage, show him the futility of all his years of study and manipulation. She trapped his gaze in hers and smirked, giving him a small taste of the fun she intended to have with him.

  His intensity faltered for a brief moment
but rallied as he pulled back the silver dagger and murmured, “Deus in nomine tuo salva me et in fortitudine tua ulciscere me.”

  Maggie clenched her eyelids tightly closed, playing with him, while Father Tom continued to pray. A cool spot amid her burning insides told her she ought to join the priest in his exercise, but she ignored it and let the flames engulf that impulse.

  Sarto’s arm shot forward, but before the tip of his instrument could touch her and before she herself could bat it away, a whoosh sounded next to her ear, and her assailant was torn from her. She opened her eyes in time to watch his thin figure slam into a thick tree trunk, sending a loud crack reverberating throughout the forest.

  The white square of his collar was soon drowned in red as a long, metal spike protruded from his neck. Smaller prongs extended from the tip of the spike, piercing Sarto’s throat and holding him to the tree. Rivers of blood cascaded down his now glistening robes. Through the slick mess, Maggie saw the silver hilt of the dagger; the other half of the weapon was plunged into his heart.

  The fire in Maggie died down as she watched the man gurgle and his body spasm, his feet dangling helplessly mere inches from the forest floor. Father Tom’s murmurs had silenced. She turned to the priest, expecting to see relief, but instead he stared at her, wide-eyed and shaking. Fear again gripped Maggie. What had she done?

  She rushed to the tree and tried pulling the pronged weapon from Sarto’s throat, but her grip slipped on the blood, and the strength she’d felt moments ago had vanished. She continued her efforts until Monsignor Sarto shuddered and then stopped all movement as his eyes glazed over in death.

  Chapter 23

  MAGGIE STEPPED BACK FROM THE TREE and looked down at her bloodied hands. “I don’t understand,” she murmured. “How could I have done this?”

  A low chuckling sounded from the forest beyond, and a silhouetted figure emerged from the darkness. “You really do have a tendency to overestimate yourself, don’t you? I haven’t given you those kinds of powers…yet.”

  It was a man’s voice, deep and smooth. As he stepped closer, Maggie could see that he was tall and of a moderate build. The moonlight illuminated enough for her to make out straight, neatly cropped hair framing sculpted cheekbones and full lips. With the way the shadows fell across his face, he looked much like Evan, but with one important difference: he lacked the internal light that made the angel visible even in the darkest of corners.

  He continued speaking as he snapped brittle twigs underfoot on his way to Maggie. “Why, only last night you convinced yourself you could actually seduce one of the Lord’s heavenly angels.”

  He was only a few feet away now, fully bathed in the small clearing’s silvery glow, but his clothing retained the dreary colors of the surrounding forest. He wasn’t dressed in linen, but rather like a gentleman, in a tweed jacket over a black turtleneck. In the broader wash of light, she recognized him—he was the handsome newcomer to St. John’s whom she’d first noticed at Father Tom’s archaeology talk and then again departing the church on the evening the altar candle had been smashed.

  “Please, call me Aedan,” he said. “The human name given me by a buxom Irish lass many moons ago.”

  Even as Maggie’s mind rebelled against this imposter who’d taken so much from her, a strange warmth enveloped her as he neared, his presence somehow soothing her, mellowing and sweetening the acrid taste in her mouth. She and this man—this spirit—had a connection, and her body instantly knew him as the being she’d coupled with the night before. Yet the surge of righteous anger that she knew she should be feeling simply couldn’t emerge. His calming effect prevailed.

  He effortlessly yanked the weapon from the tree trunk, causing Sarto’s ruined body to slump to the ground in a heap. The demon turned his eyes toward Maggie and gave her an admiring smirk. “You could’ve handled him in your own way, I’m quite sure—I felt your fire burning to do so. But I wanted the pleasure for myself. This one’s been giving me trouble for a long while now.”

  “I don’t understand…” Maggie said.

  “Shh, shh, there’s no need to speak, my dear. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. He was the Vatican’s hitman. Sent here for me. They dismissed the Protégé Prophecy long ago, but kept an eye out for signs, just in case. Sarto was savvy, one of their top experts in demonology, but he had no idea what he was up against. His dealings with my underlings did nothing to prepare him for me.”

  “But he said he was here to ensure compliance of the…the…” She gave up trying to speak. Her sluggish brain was attempting to absorb too much at once and couldn’t properly operate her physical responses.

  “He couldn’t very well state his real purpose and have the town and all the neighboring counties flipping out. You humans are such fragile things.” He touched the tip of his polished black boot to Sarto’s temple and shoved it. The monsignor’s wide-eyed head twisted on his shredded neck, landing at a grotesque angle. Satan’s follower smiled. “He was going to kill you. Nothing personal, I’m sure. He merely wanted to stop my child from entering this world. You see, I’m the protégé in the prophecy—and our child is destined to do wondrous things on this Earth for the sake of my master. Because of your eagerness to consort with those of us who are off-limits, I’ve been irrevocably elevated to the tippy top of the food chain in the underworld.”

  Maggie found it difficult to tear her eyes from the monsignor’s gory carcass, but she eventually managed to, and her gaze landed on the more appealing aspect of the sly figure next to her. He was smiling sweetly.

  “You shouldn’t be out on a cold night like this in your condition.” He took a step closer and leaned in close to murmur in her ear, “I trust you slept well after the night we had.”

  “Don’t you touch her!” Father Tom shouted. His voice was loud, but it trembled.

  The demon’s head swiveled toward the priest, who was now standing. “It’s a little late to play the hero, old man. Especially considering you’re the one who gift wrapped and delivered her to my doorstep.”

  Maggie took a step back and Aedan reached toward her, but didn’t grasp her. Instead he turned his hand, holding it palm up with his fingertips beckoning her.

  Father Tom gasped. “You—you can’t touch her, can you?”

  Aedan shot him a malevolent sneer before turning to Maggie and shrugging sheepishly. “He has me on a technicality. I rather bent the rules and only met the requirement half way. I secured your permission, allowing me free access to you for a limited time, but now that your body has been sealed in the name of my lord, I require your acceptance. And why wouldn’t you accept? You already carry my child, and I’m afraid Sarto won’t be the last man eager to rip out your womb. So without my protection…”

  Maggie swallowed, considering the implications of his unfinished sentence.

  “There are matters more important than your security in this world, Maggie!” Father Tom shouted.

  Aedan hissed, and a ring of flames burst up from the ground to surround the priest. The fire kept a wide berth, but the blazing spires held Thomas trapped. Through the dipping and dancing flames, Maggie saw sweat already beading across his forehead as his eyes opened wide, staring at the walls of his fiery prison. He wouldn’t be interrupting again any time soon.

  Aedan turned back to Maggie and stated matter-of-factly, “As I was saying, either accept the great honor I’ve chosen to bestow upon you, or you will most certainly die a torturous death.”

  Every circumstance surrounding Maggie suggested she should be trembling, cowering in the same fear she’d felt earlier that night, but despite the increasing precariousness of her position, she laughed. A dark, half-hysterical chuckle that allowed her to shove aside fear and deal with what was in front of her. While her seducer watched her mirth, he attempted to endear himself further with an engaging smile.

  “Well,” Maggie said. “I understand the torturous death part, but what exactly does this ‘great honor’ entail?”

  �
�First of all, it entails me getting to touch you again—as I recall, you quite enjoyed that.” His voice had lowered to a sensual growl. “And secondly, it entails you nurturing my child here on Earth. While you do, you’ll be given every indulgence, as will your existing mortal children. Creature comforts, the best of everything, a bounty of friends, a bevy of talents. Whatever you want.”

  “And after this Earth?”

  His lips curled. “You’ll be my queen in the afterlife, placed above all human souls in my master’s kingdom.”

  “Why me?” she challenged, causing his sure smile to falter for a moment before recovering into something softer.

  “I didn’t expect you to come easily, Magdelyn. You’re too discerning for that—and you’ve been unfairly deceived too often, so I’ll be nothing but straightforward with you. I came to Prairie Oaks because the town was ripe for me. I required just the right balance of holiness and dedication to sin. Do you know your town has some of the most active churches in the country? Ah, but also present is a strong undercurrent of materialism and competition.

  “Trouble was, the women around here are either fully entrenched in their faith, not leaving one sliver of bare thigh or cleavage open for exploitation, or in more cases than not, they’ve been victims of the evils of this world for so long that they’re spoiled goods, unable to give my child a properly prepared and righteous incubator in which to steep his wickedness.”

  He watched Maggie’s brow wrinkle and commented, “Ironic, isn’t it? For too long, I assumed any womb would do, so I bedded the brazen and wasted my seed. It never took. Not even with the virgins. I eventually realized it had more to do with the woman than the womb, and it was through infiltrating the church archives in Rome that I discovered the roadmap to success. I needed a woman who’d awakened spiritually—but one who also wavered just enough to give me the opportunity to gain her willing cooperation. That’s where your priest came in handy. I was only able to observe so much on my own, and he helped fill in the blanks with his inside knowledge of the parishioners. The information only came in drips and drabs, but the more he gave himself over to me, the more he poured forth.