Spirit Walker: Book Novels & Stories

It made so much sense the amount of respect that was given to Alpha's now and how everyone waited until they were seated before they did as much as a breath. Luckily most of my cognitive years were spent here, so I knew so little about my kind, and I had not experienced the strictness I read in these books. My wolf and I had not bonded, and sometimes I wondered if she even existed. The books were helping, though. I began to feel like there was more than one spirit in me, and I even practiced some of what I read just so I could see the impact it would have.

All around Diana and Rudolph were books littered all over the place. In Diana's hand was a book titled, 'Soul Travel' while Rudolph had 'The Demonstration' in his hands. They had skimmed through so many books that not much was left. Diana was currently on a page about a wolf spirit, travelling to the in-between world to retrieve the soul of the human. Diana had been stuck on that chapter for a long time, trying to connect it to her case. The procedure would need an Oracle but all Werewolf Oracles were killed in the Reviving.

He suggests as he motions towards our surroundings. - "Is there anyone you can think of who could give us any insight about it?" I instigate. -"Yeah, but you wouldn't like to know who he is." -"He can't be worse than dead, can he?" -"If anyone were to know about two-spirit wolves inhabiting the same host, it would be Elder Theo. He is the only bookworm I can think of." Matt unveils. -"Never mind, he is worse than dead." Matt chuckles at my comment.

I whispered. A fresh wave of nausea hit, memories pushing like claws against the walls of my mind, shadows of a past life I had spent years trying to understand. This book...This book was the answer. This was the ritual Darren used to kill me, to kill my baby, to take power for himself.

I groaned in agony. In a fit of blind, agonizing rage, I lunged for the book, my fingers clawing at the pages. I wanted to rip it to shreds, to burn it until the ashes were nothing but dust, to erase the destiny that was suffocating me... the destiny that I didn't want. I'll never accept it. But as I lifted the book to throw it across the room, the page flipped. A new illustration caught the light. It was a drawing of a man, cloaked in black from head to toe, standing before the woman in white... the Speaker with a sword of black glass as he seemed protective of her.

I manage to make it into the shower and turn the tap on before slumping to the floor. The waters so cold it makes my teeth clatter and my skin to break out in goosebumps. But the fire’s still burning. It burns my fingertips against my drenched clothes. It burns my touching thighs. It burns a path on my cheeks from the silent tears. It burns my lungs with every laboured breath. The perfect leather bound book scent hits me and sweet relief engulfs me the moment warm hands cup my cheeks. “Danika?” His voice is panicked. “What’s wrong?” He wipes the tears form my cheeks and I sob in relief.

, Ashton said. I ignored them and went to check for an interesting book that I could purchase. Jack and Ashton kept on talking and laughing but I didn’t pay them any attention. Jack was funny and I liked that about him. I found a book that seemed nice and pulse-racing, Blood Brothers by Nora Roberts.

He asked, arranging the cards on the table and chanting silently. "Kristy Swanson," I replied. "We call the spirits of the air, the earth, and water to help us find Kristy Swanson." The air in the room instantly turned cold and the light the candle produced, flickering. I could only be being paranoid. "An item of the woman in question which she might have held before she disappeared." He demanded, his eyes closed as if communing to some beings I couldn't see or hear. "Here." I handed the leather book that Kristy had asked for help in to him. It was the last thing she must have held.

To get comfortable I placed a pillow below my head and the soothing weather was the perfect one accompanying me in passing some me time. I started the book and it was about a saint who traveled the corners of India just to get the inside peace. The book was so fantastically written and the experiences he got by meeting one and another person about mysticism and spirituality really blown my mind away. The things he wrote about his spiritual experiences created goosebumps on my hand. I was so inside the book that I hardly realize someone was watching and reading with me too.

Wolves too wary to sleep with teeth bared and wounds still open. The Spiral didn’t hum. My body didn’t burn. But something inside me whispered—not a voice, not a bond. Just breath, still mine. There was no final snap, no echo of the break. Just the missing. Just me. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. My lashes were heavy, crusted with ash, and every breath stung like winter had lodged in my throat. The sky above was smudged bone-gray, dawn struggling to rise beyond the branches, too hesitant to bear witness.