Lucian: Angels and Demons Romances, #2

By Kenzie Skye

Enjoy this angels and demons romance series by romantasy author Kenzie Skye…

A creature like me has no right to love. Yet, Heaven help me, I do.

Isadora is everything I shouldn't want—pure, radiant, untouched by the darkness that clings to me. She's mortal, fragile, and utterly perfect. And I? I am fallen.

Though our love is impossible, I can't stay away. Hidden in the shadows, I watch over her, protect her, yearn for her. She is my obsession, my light in an eternity of darkness. But the world is cruel, and evil is closing in, threatening to destroy everything she holds dear.

To save her, I'll have to risk everything—my secrets, my soul, and even the tenuous balance between good and evil. Exposing the truth about who I am may mean losing her forever. But protecting Isadora is worth any price, even my damnation.

Now, the battle isn't just against the forces of darkness—it's against my own need to make her mine in every forbidden way. Forever.

Warning: Lucian contains an obsessive, overprotective fallen angel, forbidden love that burns hotter than hellfire, and obsession so consuming it defies the laws of Heaven and Earth. Dive in only if you're ready for a dark, dangerous, and utterly addictive romance!

 

Lucian is the second book in the Angels and Demons Romances Sacrifices Duet series, although all books in this steamy series can be read as standalones. For fans of Jessa Kane, Ruby Dixon and Candace Ayers, this is a HOT romantic story with a guaranteed happily ever after. Like all Kenzie Skye's books, it features an obsessed hero and an innocent heroine. Enjoy!

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

Kenzie Skye

Kenzie Skye is a romance-obsessed, fantasy-loving author who weaves together steamy love stories with just the right amount of magic. When she's not creating brooding heroes and thrilling adventures, you can find her curled up with a cup of tea, binge-watching fantasy shows, or perfecting the art of talking to her houseplants (they're great listeners). Kenzie's books are packed with forbidden love, sizzling moments, and enough magic to keep things heated. If you're into intense connections and stories that turn up the heat, you're in the right place. Want a free book to spice things up? Sign up at www.spicy-romance.com and get a steamy read sent straight to your inbox!

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 soft as moth wings. I need something special today. It's my anniversary.

Forty years, isn't it? I say, my smile genuine as it reflects her own joy. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners tells me more than words ever could about the love she's nurtured for four decades.

Indeed, it is. Her gaze lands on a burst of red roses, the epitome of passion. But I know her story, the depth and richness of it.

Let's create something with layers, I suggest, already envisioning the bouquet. Roses for passion, yes, but let's add some ivy for fidelity, and perhaps some myrtle for the shared home you've built together.

She clasps her hands together, delighted. Oh, Isadora, you always know just what to say.

Flowers speak their own language, I reply, busying myself with the selection of sprigs and blooms. Each clip of the stems