Lucian: Angels and Demons Romances, #2

By Kenzie Skye

A creature such as me has no business loving anything, but I do. Heaven help me, I do. 

 

Isadora is everything beautiful and pure and innocent. She is like nothing I've seen in the heavens or on earth. 

 

But our love can never be. Because she's a mortal, and I...I am fallen. 

 

Despite this, I watch over her every day, guarding her from afar and longing for her touch. I will protect her from everything that would harm her. I will be her guardian angel with black wings.

 

But as time passes, the danger surrounding my beloved mortal grows stronger. Dark forces threaten to harm her and those she holds dear. I know I must act quickly to protect her. 

 

Even if it means revealing my true nature and risking losing her forever.

 

I navigate the treacherous world of mortals and angels alike, testing my powers to their limits as I fight to keep my love safe and preserve the balance between good and evil.

 

And when evil comes, I am forced to confront my inner demons and make a final stand against the forces of darkness.

 

If you like supernatural romance books with a bit of magic, obsession and fallen angels, then you'll love this paranormal romance read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenzie Skye
• Release date: Jan 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223883135

Kenzie Skye

Kenzie Skye writes romance for every dimension. Her paranormal romances are over the top and always feature obsessed heroes who will do anything for the women they love. Go to www.authorkenzieskye.com for a free book!

Book preview

Chapter

One

Isadora

The air is thick with the perfume of a thousand petals, a symphony of fragrances that plays upon the senses like a master violinist's bow. My flower shop is a sanctuary, where the chaos of the outside world fades to a mere whisper against the rustling of leaves and the soft chorus of blooming life. Nature spills from every corner, vibrant colors splashing against the walls, and I am the conductor of this living orchestra.

Isadora, calls Mrs. Henderson, her voice threading through the floral aroma, do you have any of those lovely peonies left?

I turn, a smile already blooming on my lips. Of course, I reply. The words are a gentle murmur, dancing in harmony with the rustling foliage around us. I set aside a bunch just for you.

Always thinking of me, aren't you? Her eyes crinkle with delight as I hand her the bundle of blush-tinted blossoms.

Someone has to keep your spirits high, I tease, curling a stray tendril of greenery back into place.

Your kindness is a rare thing, dear. She pats my hand, her touch feather-light among the thorns and stems.

Only because people like you appreciate it. I watch her carefully fold a bill, placing it on the counter like an offering to the gods of small mercies.

Keep the change, she insists, her gaze lingering on mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Thank you, I say, my voice a soft melody that mingles with the whispers of the shop. But my gratitude extends beyond the extra coins. It reaches out to the connection, however fleeting, that brightens both our days.

As the door closes behind her, another customer approaches, hesitant, like a fawn amidst the foxgloves.

Can I help you find something? I ask, stepping closer, my movements a dance among the flowers.

I...I need something special, he stammers, his eyes darting around the riot of color.

Special has many meanings here, I assure him, guiding his gaze with a flourish to a rare orchid, its petals a velvet embrace. But perhaps this speaks to what you're seeking?

Perfect, he breathes, and I can't help but feel a spark of joy at the match made between man and bloom.

Nature has a way of knowing our hearts, I confide, wrapping the orchid with practiced hands that yearn to create beauty out of the ordinary.

Seems like you do too, he replies, his smile genuine and open.

I laugh, a sound that feels at home among the chirping of birds and the scent of jasmine. I just know flowers, I demur, handing him the package with a flourish.

More than you think, he says, and with a nod of thanks, he steps back into the world beyond, a world that knows little of the magic within these four walls.

The bell chimes again, a farewell note that lingers in the air, and for a moment, I stand there, surrounded by nature's bounty, feeling the weight and the wonder of my small domain.

The bell's faint echo fades, and I'm alone again, a queen in a kingdom of petals and thorns. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the silken skin of a rose, its deep crimson like a drop of blood on snow. The cool air of the shop seems to pulse with the life of every bloom—a symphony of scents that waltzes around me. My long brunette hair cascades down my back, untamed waves that shimmer with hints of auburn when kissed by the sun filtering through the window. It frames my face, a stark contrast to the bright green eyes that are often likened to new leaves after the rain.

Beauty in solitude, I murmur to myself, turning towards the mirror nestled between ferns and ivy. The reflection that stares back is one of sensual grace, a woman whose presence can both soothe and captivate. Yet, beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of restlessness that no one sees.

I move through the motions, arranging a bouquet of lilies and white roses, their innocence a cruel reminder of my own desires veiled in shadow. The petals yield to my touch as I weave them together—a silent testimony to the care I invest in each creation. My hands work deftly, but my mind...it wanders, unbidden, to realms untouched, to whispers of passion that stir in the dark recesses of my soul.

Isadora, they seem to call, a siren song of longing that I've become adept at ignoring. But today, the yearning claws its way up my throat, a silent scream for something—someone—who can match the fervor that simmers within. I want to be seen, not just as the florist who knows her roses from her ranunculi, but as the woman who craves a connection that reaches beyond the confines of this emerald haven.

More, I sigh, the word slipping out like a secret shared with the stillness of the room. My gaze drifts to the window, to the world outside that marches to a rhythm I can't seem to fall in step with. There's a pull, an aching need to be part of a dance that thrills with danger and promise.

Isn't that what everyone wants? The question hangs in the air, unanswered. I shake my head, dispelling the invading thoughts as I inhale deeply, letting the myriad fragrances ground me once more. A petal falls, a gentle descent to the counter, and I catch it before it lands—an act of preservation against the inevitable fate of all beautiful things.

Perhaps tomorrow, I whisper, caressing the soft edge of the petal, something—or someone—extraordinary will find its way here. The thought is a balm, and I tuck it close to my heart, a seed planted in the fertile soil of hope. I resume my tasks, each snip of the shears a meticulous effort to bring forth beauty from the ordinary, while inside, the ember of desire glows, biding its time until it can ignite into a flame that will consume everything I thought I knew about love, about life, about the very essence of Isadora Everly.

The chime above the door tinkles, a melodic herald of new company. I glance up as Mrs. Henley steps inside, her presence a familiar comfort in the ebb and flow of customers. My fingers are still wrapped around a stem, thorns kissing my skin without piercing—a dangerous dance I've mastered.

Good morning, Isadora, she greets, voice