Gift of Darkness

By C.L. Carhart

They say a Teuton witch shouldn’t desire an outsider. But love never follows the rules.

Doro, a Teuton witch of darkness, longs to offer her adopted sister, Amira, the same magical gifts she claims. But the Teuton priests in her Alpine village staunchly refuse to perform the ritual that would transform Amira into a witch. And Doro is certain there’s some age-old prejudice involved. When a secretive, undead priest offers to conduct the ritual—at a terrible price—will Doro dance with demons for Amira’s sake?

While Amira would risk her life to seize Teutonic magic, there’s something else she wants even more. For years, she and Doro have resisted the romantic pull between them, for fear of social repercussions. Once her magic awakens, Amira longs to marry Doro and bind their elements forever. But if the local priests won’t let Amira become a witch, none will agree to perform her wedding. Right?

Fans of Discovery of Witches and L. J. Smith’s works will devour C.L. Carhart's suspenseful small town paranormal romance. This is Doro and Amira’s complete story.
Buy now to start reading this hot new series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Carhart
• Release date: May 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781954807228

C.L. Carhart

C.L. Carhart has been writing since the age of 4, dabbling in everything from children’s books, to fantasy, to historical fiction. Eventually, her lifelong interest in European history inspired her to create a paranormal fantasy realm based on the Teutonic people groups. The His Name Was Augustin series provides a first glimpse at this other-world—a place rife with ancient mysteries and dark magic.Born and raised in southern New Jersey, C.L. spends her free time hiking with her husband, enjoying metal music, snuggling her feline familiars, and dreaming of the wonders of Germany.

Book preview

Gift of Darkness

Elemental Bloodlines

Book III

C.L. Carhart

Table of Contents

Brief Pronunciation Guide

Blurb

Author’s Note

Doro

Amira

Doro

Amira

Amira

Doro

Amira

Doro

Amira

Doro

Doro

Amira

Doro

Amira

Doro

Doro

Amira

Doro

Amira

Amira

Doro

Doro

Amira

Doro

Amira

Also by C.L. Carhart

Translations

Pronunciation Guide

About the Author

Copyright © C.L. Carhart 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-954807-22-8

https://clcarhart.com

Cover Design © J. L. Wilson Designs | https://jlwilsondesigns.com

For Janet & Kat

2 remarkable women

from 2 vastly different eras.

Brief Pronunciation Guide

Amira – Ah-MEER-uh

Jasmin – YAZ-min

Maja – MEYE-uh (eye is pronounced like eyeball)

Teutonica – Too-TAHN-ih-kuh

Teya – TAY-uh

Truhtein – TROO-tine (tine is pronounced like a fork tine)

Wildertal – VILL-der-tahl

Wuotan – VOH-tahn

You can find a full pronunciation guide and translations at the end of this book.

Blurb

They say a Teuton witch shouldn’t desire an outsider. But love never follows the rules.

Doro, a Teuton witch of darkness, longs to offer her adopted sister, Amira, the same magical gifts she claims. But the Teuton priests in her Alpine village staunchly refuse to perform the ritual that would transform Amira into a witch. And Doro is certain there’s some age-old prejudice involved. When a secretive, undead priest offers to conduct the ritual—at a terrible price—will Doro dance with demons for Amira’s sake?

While Amira would risk her life to seize Teutonic magic, there’s something else she wants even more. For years, she and Doro have resisted the romantic pull between them, for fear of social repercussions. Once her magic awakens, Amira longs to marry Doro and bind their elements forever. But if the local priests won’t let Amira become a witch, none will agree to perform her wedding. Right?

~*~

Gift of Darkness is a small town paranormal (ff) romance with witches and is part of the Elemental Bloodlines series. It is Doro and Amira’s complete story.

Author’s Note

All stories in the Teutonic Fantasy Realm take place in a world much like our own. Major historical events—like the World Wars—occurred similarly to those in our present world. Major locales—like Innsbruck and the Alps—can also be found in modern Austria.

However, all Teutonic history, customs, and magic, are utter figments of the author’s imagination. As far as she knows, no actual elemental witches roam modern Austria in secret, nor is it possible for outsiders to seize their magnificent gifts. And no, the demon lord Wuotan is not a real being.

We hope.

Wildertal is a fictional village that does not exist in modern Austria. All businesses and locales in and around Wildertal are fictional.

Words in the fictional Teutonic dialect are italicized.

~*~

This book includes content that might be triggering for some readers. There are instances of sexuality, violence, death, profanity, racial and sexual prejudices, and mature themes. This book is an FF romance with a HEA.

Chapter One:

Doro

Rejected again.

Why had I expected anything else? For three years now, I had propositioned every Teuton priest I knew—and many I did not—hoping to find one willing to conduct the blood-transfer for my fiancée and me. And for three years I had come up empty. No priest around here dared to attempt the deadliest ritual known to our people, not on a pair of women whose love defied cultural expectations.

The local priests were all cowardly males who feared social repercussions if the ritual succeeded. Amira might not agree with me on that, but today’s rejection cemented it in my brain. Offer your heart to a Teuton your age, and you’ll discover all the mysteries hidden from you. That was what the priest had said.

He had used the male form of the term ‘Teuton,’ his point blatant. Give up your unnatural attraction to a female outsider and breed magical children. That’s all you’re good for, anyway. You’re unhappy now because you’re ignoring your maternal instincts.

As if I’d spread my legs and cook for some idiot who wants me to worship him like a mindless peasant, I grumbled to myself as I pulled out of the diner’s parking lot. Thanks to the dampness of the road, my car’s tires squealed a bit on my way out. Glancing at the low hanging rain clouds, I stamped on the clutch in my quest to leave first gear’s uselessness behind. I should have known Karl’s uncle was just as bigoted as him.

My elemental magic seethed in my blood as I turned my car off the highway along the Inn River, striking out for the road winding homeward. Once I made it back to Wildertal, I would head for the local beer garden straight away. After that awful priest’s comments, I could use a drink. Especially if I could unload to Amira at the same time.

The past two weeks had been rough for our family. Visions of my father in his final hours swam before my eyes as I wound my way through birches and oaks, their branches heavy with moisture. He had finally relinquished his fight against cancer ten days ago, his spirit ascending into an eternity that seemed so far from the Alpine village I called my home.

He had never once chided me for my disinterest in men. He always said he wanted me to be happy, even if that meant cultivating a romance with the gracious outsider he and my mother adopted seventeen years ago. Amira and I grew up as sisters and best friends, supporting each other through the trials and triumphs of adolescence into adulthood. Just before my senior year of high school, when Amira confessed that she loved me as more than an adopted sister, it felt as though the fates had snapped into place.

But now our staunchest ally had passed into eternity, and a priest who lived a short drive from our village had the gall to suggest I find myself a man. A Teuton male who wielded elemental magic like I did. One who could bind my heart and cleanse it from its unholy yearnings.

Obviously I’m begging to face death for Amira’s sake because my heart bleeds for a man. Makes perfect sense. Darkness sharpened my vision as I rolled my eyes, taking the final curve into Wildertal. Pity it was a Friday evening and a rainy one at that. I would have to stifle my magic before I entered the beer garden. No need to terrify innocent outsiders with my black eyes.

I cast my elemental sense in a wide net as I turned into the tight parking lot, choosing a spot facing the street. Seven Teutons were inside the restaurant, and I recognized each of their elements. There seemed to be quite a few non-magical humans inside too, though I did not take a count of their empty spirits. Wildertal was a haven for tourists wishing to explore the Austrian countryside. On a stormy evening in late May, the only bar in town beckoned any and all.

Raising the hood of my jacket, I sprinted toward the oaken door as soon as I locked my car. A dimly-lit sign advertised Kramhof: Alpine Retreat and Cuisine to anyone passing through on the main street. Since the parking lot was nearly full, I suspected most patrons ignored the motel’s entrance in favor of the side door reserved for the bar. A painted gnome sat in a planter to the right of the door, tipping its pointed hat to the weary traveler.

I tossed the gnome a vague smile before tugging the door open. Pop music tantalized my ears from overhead speakers, the cloying scents of alcohol mingled with grilled foods luring me inside. My gaze fell upon my fiancée as I shut the door behind me. She stood just paces from me, clad in a prim Dirndl—her standard waitress attire—her back turned as she took the orders from a family with three young children.

Just the sight of her took the edge off my irritation. My muscles released a trace of their tension as I looked toward the bar along the far wall. I caught the eye of Rolf, the owners’ son and bartender. A glint of magic sparkled in his gaze for a split second before he looked down to top off a mug from the tap. He might get in trouble if his sister caught him doing that.

Amira brushed my arm on her way to the kitchen, her aura empty of magic but brimming with inquisitiveness. She knew I had met with Herr Hippler and doubtless wondered how it had gone. She had too many customers to attend at the moment, so I wove my way between the tables to the bar, planning to order a drink before seeking out a dark corner. None of the stools along the bar were free.

Rough day? Rolf eyed me with concern while he prepared my gin and tonic, his bushy brown eyebrows rising toward his hairline. I sensed his elemental energy reaching out to my darkness, offering a wisp of stability.

Couldn’t get much worse, I groused, taking the glass from him and catching the straw in my teeth. I took a slow sip, relishing the sharp bite of the gin. Rolf looked as if he wanted to pry further, but I turned away. I’ll be in the corner. Catch you later.

Thankfully, the two-person table Amira and I usually occupied whenever we met up here had not yet been claimed. I sauntered toward it in a daze, ruminating on my distasteful encounter with Gerhard Hippler and his wife. His bound wife, a witch whose gaze appeared strangely empty, even when she tried to lure me out of my shell with talk of her infant grandson. The baby was cute; she had shown me a boatload of pictures on her smartphone.

But that maternal instinct priests claimed I harbored remained dormant. Amira and I had talked about having children once she became a witch like me, but we agreed that she would be the one to experience pregnancy and childbirth. She longed to nurture a baby of her own, while I preferred to maintain my body’s current proportions. The blood-transfer would leave permanent scars without distending my abdomen.

My fiancée slid into the chair across from me while I sipped my drink and pondered dark thoughts about outdated customs and how best to overcome them. Her warm brown eyes met mine as she set a can of Fanta onto the table and leaned forward. He won’t do it, will he?

He won’t because he’s a homophobe like his damned nephew. Says I need to find myself a Teuton male to unveil all the mysteries I’ve never dreamed of. I curled my lip and traced a line through the condensation on my glass.

Amira’s shoulders slumped and she dropped her gaze to her soda can, twisting it around in a circle. Maybe he’s just scared he’d do something wrong. I still think that’s Karl’s excuse, not that he’d ever admit it. He’s afraid he’d kill one of us by accident.

Ugh. Don’t mention his name. I rubbed my forehead as memories from three years ago infiltrated my brain. Karl and I had grown up together, and he was the first Teuton priest I spoke with after I returned home from college. A guy I had long considered my friend refused to perform the blood-transfer upon Amira and me, the first in a long series of rejections.

He’d only been a priest for what, a couple months when you asked him? My fiancée cracked open her soda and took a swig, favoring me with a doubtful look. I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to cut open two of my friends and summon a demonic horde in the process.

I barely suppressed a snort, Amira’s nonchalance lightening my mood. One demon. Just Wuotan. Not all of hell’s minions.

I really wish sex would work for us, Amira sighed as I swirled a bit of gin and tonic around in my mouth. It’d be so much less painful.

Blame Wuotan for that, I muttered, eyeing what remained of my drink. As an outsider with no magic whatsoever, Amira could become a witch in one of two ways—through the blood-transfer or through elemental sex. I infused her flesh with traces of darkness every time we got intimate, but her blood remained absent of magic, her spirit as vacant as those of the other outsiders thronging the bar.

I’m starting to wonder if our valley is cursed. Or maybe it’s the Inn. Amira looked toward the door to the kitchen with narrowed eyes. At least one person has died every time there’s been a blood-transfer in—how long has it been? Twenty years? Thirty?

Shouldn’t you be working? A snappish voice interrupted our conversation, its owner nudging our table with her hip. Maja Kram looked down her nose at my fiancée, a hint of red fire outlining her steel gray irises. I stiffened in my chair and glared at her, opening my mouth to retort.

I took my fifteen as soon as you finished with yours. Amira beat me to it, her eyes growing round with innocence. Why don’t you take care of the group that just came in? They sound like Americans.

Diverted, Maja sailed off toward the entrance, where a group of youthful tourists stood shaking out their umbrellas, their voices carrying over the quieter murmurs suffusing the atmosphere. Now every sober person in the room would spend the next hour listening in on their conversation, testing their knowledge of oddly-accented English. And Maja would earn an unusually large tip.

I can’t stand that bitch. Treating you like trash just because you’re not a witch yet. She’s got another thing coming if you get an element that routs fire. I smirked at Amira and downed the rest of my drink.

My fiancée blushed and looked at her hands in her lap. I don’t want to get in a fight with her or anyone else. I just want to be a witch so we can mate in full.

She peered at me from beneath her eyelashes, prompting my heart to melt all over again. We’ll find someone to do the blood-transfer for us. I promise. And the last time anyone around here came out of the ritual with two survivors was in the ’80s, back when Horst and Cord took care of everything.

Amira chewed on her bottom lip, drawing my attention toward it. Maybe we should have asked Horst to do it, she said in a subdued tone, twisting her soda can around in a circle again.

Pain clasped my heart at the memory of my elderly mentor’s late husband. Horst had been a shining light in the village for so long, and I had helped Lady Ilsa care for him in his final months. His spunk never faded, his openness toward my fiancée and me a breath of fresh air in a community that sought to stifle us. He believed Amira would walk beside me as an equal one day.

I don’t think either he or Cord were healthy enough to get it done by the time we were both ready. It’s just really dumb that none of the younger priests or the ones our parents’ age are willing. I mean, they want us to have magical babies so the Teuton people don’t die out, right? If you become a witch, you can have two kids so I don’t have to have any. It’d broaden the gene pool.

Amira gazed at me thoughtfully as she took another sip of Fanta. Got any leads for semen?

My cheeks heated at the subject. Possibly, I replied as she rose to her feet and stretched, preparing to return to her duties. She headed for the kitchen, likely to check on the entrées for the family seated near the exit. I made my way to the bar and waited for Rolf to have a free moment so I could pay. As nice as it would be to drown my sorrows in hard liquor, I needed to get my car home.

I loitered at the bar until my fiancée returned to pour two mugs of beer. She met my gaze while she opened the tap, and I leaned over the bar to admit my darkest muses. I think we’re going to have to take a trip to the Black Castle.

Chapter Two:

Amira

Horror surged into me and I shushed my fiancée, scanning the faces of those gathered at the bar. Were any of them Teutons? Had any heard her?

One of the regulars flagged Rolf for a refill, while most of the others seemed engrossed in conversation or in the TV screens behind me. Some sort of soccer match was in process; I had not bothered to notice which teams played. I breathed out a sigh as I shut off the tap, shooting Doro a look before averting my attention to the young couple whose mugs I held. They came every Friday evening for dinner and drinks, and they lived on the other side of Wildertal near the chapel. A farmer and a ski instructor.

I’m serious! Doro called after me as I moved away from the bar.

Later! I tossed over my shoulder, hoping she would take the hint and head home. Rolf, Jasmin, and I were closing tonight. If Doro stayed that long, I might have to carry her to the car. Only one gin and tonic, and she had already proposed something that could bring trouble down on us, if the wrong person overheard.

Though I had no Teuton blood myself, I had lived among them since the Kimmig family adopted me at age six. And I knew going to the Black Castle was not an appropriate topic for public discussion. Maybe Doro brought that up to distract me from my question about semen. We had to get some somewhere, if I was to live out my dream of raising magical children together with her. It would be awkward to ask any of the local guys for something like that.

I felt myself blushing as I returned to the bar, my gaze passing over Rolf on the way. He had been single for a few months now, having decided to take a break from dating after his most recent girlfriend dumped him. Would he be willing to let me mother one of his children, once Doro and I found a priest to blend her blood with mine? Or would that ruin our casual friendship?

My fiancée had corralled Jasmin into a conversation, probably to gripe about her uncle’s potential homophobia. I loaded several empty glasses into the dishwasher, one ear tuned to what Doro and my coworker were saying. Part of me thinks there’s something else going on, since nobody wants to take a chance on you two. Didn’t you ask any of the priests in Innsbruck?

Jasmin sounded sympathetic, and my fiancée harrumphed. I asked one guy when I was at school there, and he squealed on me to his grandfather, one of the priests on Innsbruck’s council. After that, none of the priests in the city would look my way. Either they can’t stand the thought of two witches building a life free from priestly oversight, or—

Maybe it’s something to do with your birth mom. I came to Jasmin’s side as she broached an unexpected issue, her dark braid sliding over her left shoulder when she bent down to retrieve a cleaning rag.

Doro ogled my coworker, her lips parted in astonishment. What? She ran a hand through her short black hair, brushing it away from her face.

Just thinking out loud, Jasmin said as she mixed a cocktail, meeting my gaze before shifting her focus back to Doro. But if nobody in Austria’s willing to do the blood-transfer for you two, maybe you should try Germany.

I served several of the guests at the bar before wandering back to where my fiancée lingered at the corner, her chin propped up on one hand while she eyed the soccer match with disinterest. She might have a point. You could always ask around on the forum, see if any priests in Germany would help us, I suggested, drifting to the cash register to print bills for two of my tables.

A Black Priest shouldn’t care about my birth mom or our preferences. And we won’t have to worry about the ritual killing one of us, Doro murmured as I came around the bar, trailing my path to a table near the exit. We just have to figure out what to offer as a fair trade.

My sister departed before I could respond, and I spent the rest of the shift wondering how far along the dark path she dared to go. Sure, the blood-transfer depended upon a demon’s whims, which was why the ritual tended to be deadly for one of the two persons involved. But I could never seize the magic I had desired for most of my life in any other way. It was a chance I was willing to take, since Doro considered it an honor to offer her blood to me.

But now my fiancée spoke as if she would bargain with a Black Priest this very night, in an effort to grant me the gifts I longed to claim. While I knew as much about Teuton history, culture, and magic as any of the elemental witches in town, Black Priests were a taboo subject. All I knew about them was what Der Weg Teutonisch—the ancient Teutonic encyclopedia—revealed.

Males who had committed an unpardonable sin, exiled from the community using the filial curse. Sinister specters who inhabited the Black Castle, a stone fortress in the mountains along the Austrian-German border. Servants of Wuotan himself. Mages who fashioned dark spells shunned by the righteous.

Did Doro really believe we should ask someone like that to perform the blood-transfer upon us? What would a Black Priest demand in return? Would we have to relinquish our souls to a demon in the process?

The dinner customers trickled out as evening progressed, the storm outside still showering Wildertal with late spring rain. Just after the kitchen closed at eight p.m., I cornered Rolf at the same place Doro had dropped her bomb about the Black Castle. Glancing at the patrons lining the bar to ensure none of them paid attention to us, I gestured him to my level as he wiped a mug.

How much do you know about Black Priests? I asked in a low voice, hoping none of the people nearby were enhancing their senses with Teutonic magic. This was not the time to be overheard and misjudged.

Rolf’s eyebrows crimped in evident surprise, and he edged closer to me so our elbows nearly touched. Cursed Teuton priests who lurk in the Black Castle?

I know that. But like, how dangerous are they? Is it true that they sacrifice people to Wuotan? Just talking about such entities prompted shivers to run along my entire body.