Full Circle: Shadow Walkers Series, #1

By Nina M

Acacius is a blurred line between light Magik and dark blood Magik. A myth.

Chained to life chasing shadows and finding dead ends, love has come and gone but hope has never waned.

Eurice, a curious shape-shifting Leopard wants to know more about reclusive Acacius and why she's so drawn to him.

Life at the laboratory has predictable interactions, real life is a little complicated, but she's willing to try.

 

A Rogue, Spellweaver born of sacrificial Magik, on the loose has all families caught in his meddling wanting closure.

Their love has survived through the odds time and time again but against dark Magik what's more powerful?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nina M
• Release date: Oct 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393585572

Nina M

Nina M is a paranormal author, who enjoys creating worlds filled with magic and characters who fight for love despite the chances. She's an avid reader finding her way of expression as well as finding a way back to her roots.

Book preview

Prologue

Shape-shifters and Spell-weavers have lived among full humans for eons, our existence undisturbed because we’d rather their blunders not affect our world as drastically as they do theirs. Sometimes both worlds collide, but we can fix many things they can’t.

Spell-weavers have always propelled our world into new eras of knowledge and guidance, while keeping the balance between light and dark blood Magik. They ensure the flow of Magik even when souls have crossed to the other side when they pass and can be reincarnated, and are able to find their way to light Magik without the corruption of dark Magik.

However, sometimes, there’s someone with a complex to cock it up once in a while.

Tonight though, I’d like to forget about that for a few hours and try to enjoy myself in this farce of an intellectual gathering my best friend coerced me into. He says it’s the Oscars of the scholarly people in our world, but I prefer less pretentious gatherings. Like the last few years, the large outdoor area now sports a temporary dancefloor under stringlights, the warm glow as the night seeps in inviting people out. The little outdoor seating nooks to the left of the pool under the arched overgrowth swaddle canoodling partygoers. Laughter fills the night along with conversations loud and hushed. Drinks are refilled, and canapes are devoured.

The place is teeming with Shape-shifters of all kinds, drinking, mingling, some being rowdy as one would expect of the Hyena clans or vicious Honey-badgers. Then there are the uptight felines—not all—but some have a superiority complex. I nod at a few people and keep conversations short. Passing by a group of Wolves who are as irritable as ever, I chat up an acquaintance before moving on. The Jackals in attendance and huddled in a group, looking bored. Once in a while I spot a Bear, larger than most of the others shifters, lumbering around and looking annoyed or oblivious. I spot a few Spell-weavers, young and impressionable, and the few full humans I’ve scented so far look well integrated into our world.

Shape-shifters are humans born with Magik in their blood, formerly known as guardians of the Spell-weavers. They share both a human and animal spirit, and at age sixteen both merge during an awakening ceremony. Spell-weavers descend from families blessed by the Goddess with the gift of Magik, and are now divided into eight Covens, which categorise the dominant Magik ability expressions.

Overtime, Shape-shifters and Spell-weavers brooked the inter-breeding laws—united against the divide among humans over hierarchy—creating a much stronger species we have today, living just shy of two centuries. But like I said, sometimes the human world collides with ours, a good example is the derogative seedy slave trade that exploited people not many centuries ago.

Shape-shifters whose Magik lay dormant in the new lands once they disembarked the ships and never took part in the awakening ceremony bred a species of vampiric immortal beings in alarming numbers in the fifteenth to nineteenth centuries.They aren’t outcasts per se, but their rabid blood thirst and penchant for psychotic ways of expressing themselves when crossed, well... isn’t for everyone. Some humans have been lured into the call of immortality for the price of their souls, but those who know of our existence abide to the oath of secrecy. The three I’ve crossed paths with tonight seem well behaved but the night is young.

Hiya. The feminine voice has me looking to my left as the space beside me on the lounge chair dips when she sits.

With a sigh, she tips her head back and I sniff the air for her scent—a Leopard and not a stiff feline one at that.

Evening, I say, unsure about sharing the chair when I thought I was well-hidden for the remainder of the night.

Why are you over here judging everyone? It’s a party.You should be chatting up people. It’s rude to come all the way only to look bothered to have made the effort.

I’m comfortable on my lonesome tonight.

I’m all right so far.

She turns to peer at me, eyes squinted. That’s a lie.We all have to talk to someone.

She takes a gulp of her drink, smacks her lips after swallowing and nearly misses the table as she tips forward to place the champagne flute down. She crosses her long legs, leans back and tips her head back again, her coily, bouncy curls spilling over the back of the chair.

Not all the time, I say, my gaze still on her.

She goes quiet for so long I think she’s asleep until she sighs yet again. I think if it wasn’t for the drinks, I’d be sitting here like you, lonely and miserable.

I frown at her words. I’m not lonely or miserable.

That’s what everyone who is sitting alone at a party says.

I’m not most people, I counter.

She smiles, the golden light of the outdoor lighting bathing her golden almond skin with flushed cheeks in a mellow glow, her mascara-enhanced lashes enticing singular lined half-moons.Indeed, she murmurs.

We lapse into silence again and I continue watching people, slowly getting annoyed by the resounding words of this woman who doesn’t know me.

You’re brooding. Her words snap my eyes from the laughing couple making fools of themselves on the outdoor dance floor and providing a good laugh for everyone, including my grinning best friend.

I’m not.

You lie a lot, for a...a, she says and leans toward me sniffing the air and does it again, cocking her head and blinking up at me. I smirk when a small crease forms between her brows.

What are you? she finally asks.

Wouldn’t be any fun if I just told you now, would it?

She sits back and turns toward me, big hazel eyes with more brown than green boring into mine until she blinks. An odd flicker of something stirs in me the longer I look into those orbs but I squash it. Quirking an eyebrow when she goes too long without finding the answer she’s looking for, I watch as her plush bottom lip pushes out a little, chuckling at her determination. She’ll have to do her homework after sleeping off the hangover tomorrow and hopefully she’ll find a clue to what I really am.

I’m Eurice, by the way, she says, extending a hand.

Odd, in this day and age. Most people hardly shake hands, but with a smile I extend mine, impressed by her effort to really figure out who I am. She’s a little ticked she can’t easily place my scent like the Shape-shifters or Spell-weavers and I don’t have that rancid, ashen smell like a Vampire.

Acacius, I say, but my mind stalls when my hand grasps hers tighter and I’m peering at her when that faint pull towards her hits me again, something I haven’t felt in over a century. I watch her eyes widen, lips part and I let go of her hand.

It can’t be.

Eurice

I t’s a huge leap, Eurice . I’m just worried you might be biting more than you can chew, Seira, my best mate for over a decade says from her perch on my bed, not helping with my packing at all.

Trust me, I just know. I feel like I’ve been there before. Don’t forget, I get a holiday out of it. I haven’t been to Africa yet. It’s been all work last couple of years after University, so this is my chance, I say, folding a few more dresses and placing them in the suitcase.

Seira looks sceptical, her pupils changing from her human kind to her slitted, Shape-shifter Tiger eyes for a second before she blinks, her newly manicured nails plucking at the end of one of her braids. If anything, it’s the surest I’ve ever been in my life. I know where I’m headed has answers.

Answers to what, I don’t know.

Do your parents even know why you’re going? Does Misty?

I frown at that. What are we, sixteen and trying to sneak out to go to the clubs? And why does she have to bring Artemis into this? Of course, I told her my plans without the extra details. She’s nineteen and nosy something our aunts love since gossip is like catnip. And why is she fretting like Shape-shifters or Spell-weavers are confined in one place? It’s 2020, and like every other person in their twenties I want to see the world. Besides, paranormals are everywhere. We live a long life—an extra fifty or so years than the usual human lifespan—and over concerned Seira is always travelling for work assignments.

Yeah, they do, but it’s not like I have to give them the whole narrative. I live by myself now—well, with you—but not at home and have my own job, so I’m allowed to travel the world. My life doesn’t have revolve around being in the laboratory all the time. I’ll miss our flat here in London I’m sure, but not the horrible London summer sun, but it’s my time to see more before I find a mate and start settling down.

Grand-mere might have inkling about my restlessness since our last talk three years ago when we visited home in Martinique, but I have to find my centre and understand this void myself. Even though the memory of her Seer eyes that see more than just the ordinary had scrutinised me so hard, I still wonder if this is all right.

Seira’s expression sours, catching on that I’m dodging.

You’re sure if they find out always-does-the right-thing-follows-all-the-rules-Eurice is going to visit some bloke in Kenya they’ll just be okay with it? What if it’s a joke or something?

While telling her about my reasons for this journey, I may have left out a bit about the dreams. It feels like I’m breaching a confidentiality by divulging the bizarre, vivid images from my sleep that leave me feeling as if I’m relieving past lives of sorts. I’ve been dealing with them since I turned seventeen. Seven years later, I have a starting point down this rabbit hole.

"What can it hurt looking into it? Like I said, it’s a detour during my holiday. And stop worrying. From the information you’ve been able to gather about our speculation, he might not be that." I pause my packing to shove her shoulder, sending her toppling on her back on my bed with a huff. If I’m honest, the possibility that Acacius might be a Shadow-walker is a little scary, but I also want to know more about him.

Her glossy, full lips purse, a dip between her brows forming. Hmm, breaching any vaults or finding anyone willing to talk about the mythical Shadow-walkers is like trying to pry a witch’s pursed lips. The light Magik Keepers Elders are hiding something, I’m sure of it. I laugh at her frustration. Even as a member of high-ranking intelligence personnel, there are doors she can’t go through yet.

For all I know, he’s probably some wealthy Shape-shifter with three wives. You’ve met him all of four times.You say he was quiet but endearing once he got comfortable around you but he’s somewhat broody, and here you are being daft and whimsical. This whole thing is a bit spotty, is all.

At that, I snort and slap her foot near my suitcase, making her pull it back with a squeal. Moving towards the sun-covered side of the bed added a glow to her cocoa skin. He is wealthy. She squints at me when I shrug as if my reason to go see the man is about his deep pockets.

I’m not going to start a relationship or anything. This is just a trip with the bonus of finding some closure or whatever.

Why do I feel like you’ve left something out of the whole spill you gave me? she quips, causing my heart rate to pick up, but I purse my lips and avert my eyes to the dresser and my perfumes that don’t need packing away today. If she were a mind-enchanter Spell-weaver she would have found out more information by delving into my thoughts so I’m counting my lucky stars.

It’s just a hunch. Deep down, I have a feeling Acacius only lets the world know what he wants them to know, so face-to-face in his own turf is the only way to unearth this hold he has on me once and for all.

You don’t think he’s your mate, do you? Is that why you’re going to the ends of the earth to find him?

I stare at her, feeling like she’s caught on to my reasoning, because how else can I put the feeling I’ve had last couple of years into words, let alone the loneliness that has been with me all my life. The need to find that one place I belong without feeling like I’m missing a vital piece that connects me to this existence. And then we crossed paths just over two years ago, and there’s this peace when I’m with him, only I haven’t even scratched the surface.

Erm...

She bursts into a fit of giggles. I’m joking. I know we have fated mates and we’re reincarnated. Vampires don’t count since they’ve lost their spirit anchors to both this world and the other. And we all know as per my research, Shadow-walkers are a myth.

Is that true? Grand-mere thinks otherwise, even if there has been no talk of Shadow-walkers in the last two hundred years or so.

Everyone can still find love. And remember, we agreed to keep an open mind about the possibility of the latter being true.

She gives me sardonic smile and I quell the urge to give her a proper wallop.

"You forget, for our kind, Spell-weavers and Shape-shifters, you have to be open to wanting to find your mate for the Touch to guide you, which leaves vampires out. As for Shadow-walkers, maybe they also can’t. Remember, the incantation to turn a Spell-weaver into a Shadow-walker includes dark blood Magik."

But there’s only talk of pure Spell-weavers potentially turning into Rogues if they used dark blood Magik and human sacrifice. There’s only one known case of such anoccurrence. Growing up, it was used as the epitome of dark Magik’s corruption and the evil lurking in the shadows. But I still wonder, where do Shadow-walkers lie? I wish there was more information about Shadow-walkers or fewer roadblocks in learning more about them.

When I met Acacius, we shook hands and nothing happened, but the pull between us was oddly undeniable. This is my chance to ask him face to face and, in his domain, all the questions I haven’t been able to ask him whenever he’s visited my dreams. I’ve met Spell-weavers before and although his dream-walking gift is one of the eight Coven’s Magik, there’s something elusive about him.

I roll my eyes at my best friend’s flippancy, trying to keep the small voice in the back of my head wondering if this is all just a joke and I’m the punchline waiting to drop.

She leans on her elbows, legs swinging behind her in the air. I wish I could come with you, though. It would be a fun holiday. I feel like I’ll never travel with the way I’m carrying on.

It’s my turn to give her a look. You’re so dramatic. We went to Paris for a week less than a year ago.

I know but, here you are, four years into your job, the wunderkind after graduating University at just eighteen because you’re so brilliant Dr Eurice Baudoin. With enough time to jet off to Kenya and go sightseeing. And what I’m I doing? Being left behind by my best mate to my boring means of entertaining myself,

I’m sure her boss at the London branch of Shifter-tracking intelligence division would not be pleased to hear her say work is boring. Nor do I believe her since she enjoys what she does enough to even manage to make time for outings. Since meeting her in high school when I skipped three levels and ended up in her biology class a gangly ten-year-old and Seira Aube Blake took me under her wing, we’ve been inseparable. At twenty-seven she can be a mother hen where I’m concerned and keeps reminding me I have to enjoy being a twenty-three-year-old instead of just working, so I am.

I’m sure you’ll survive.

She plops back on the bed. Yeah, right. You’ll probably come back and I’ll be bones in my bed, withered and waiting for you to say goodbye in person. Melodramatic much?

Really, Seira?

She lifts her leg and points her big toe at me. You tell me how you’d feel if it were me going.

I sit beside her and grab her thigh and shake her a bit. It would be awful, but I’d be happy for you.

Turning her head to look at me, she sobers up. I am. Don’t let my pouting get you down or make you think I’m not chuffed. I think it’s just realising we’re grown up and the world is bigger than just down the end of the street where we know. She pulls at one of my stray curls then ruffles my afro, making me scoot away.

I nod at her words. As if I would. You’ll forget all about me the minute I board a plane. Some new bloke will swing his pretty eyes and brilliant smile at you, and boom. Whatever happened to that Lynx Shape-shifter you were seeing not long ago?

She rolls her eyes at me and flips on her stomach, snickering. He got boring so we went our separate ways. And just so you know, I’ll be pining, awaiting your return like a dutiful wartime lover.

Tigers and their temperament, can’t have a man around too long before they start to feel stiffled and kick them out.

Yeah, and I’ll believe that when I see pigs flying. I mock.

Ye of little faith.

Ye has known you long enough, I taunt.

SO THIS IS THE HEART of Kenya, huh?

It’s noisy in this city. People walk everywhere. It’s hot, and their buses, which look a little different to the double deckers I’m used to in the UK, are always blaring their horns as are the Nissans and the three-wheeled tuk-tuks that manoeuvre through the dirt roads off the main tarmac roads. By the time I get back home, I’ll be deaf.

But all in all, I like it so far. The people are friendly, and there’s so much authenticity that backs the African saying about unity. I can feel it—it’s like a beating drum among the chaos as we weave through traffic, which never seems to stop even at zebra crossing sor for people selling things on the streets. Some side roads leading off the main roads are bare and full of potholes, and I’ve tripped and stumbled more than I care to count on the little exposed rocks. I’m still self-conscious as I walk by apartment complexes on one side of the city and past people idling at door steps or on balconies.

The sewage system is exposed, or it’s the river cutting though the city laden with rubbish and debris that seems to cause the water to stagnate and permeates part of the city in a dank smell, but I’m getting used to it. I’m finally eating some foods from the vendor kiosks, which the locals seem