Gift of Wind

By C.L. Carhart

Second chance or impending disaster? A scarred witch collides with her darkest muse.

Skye
The last time I saw Karl, life’s cruelty had not yet damaged me. A naïve teen with romantic daydreams. That was before my life combusted. Before Karl abandoned me. Before a ruthless elder demolished my hopes.

Now as I look my past in the eye, my body yearns to blend my wintry wind with his alluring ice. But my heart hesitates to trust the man who broke it long ago. This can’t end well.

Karl
I’ve made more mistakes than I can count since I became a Teuton priest. When an opportunity to right my wrongs arises, I can’t ignore it—even if it means facing Skye again. The witch whose magic wholly entrances mine.

But our years apart shattered us both. Skye might not believe I’ve matured, but I’ll do anything to prove my allegiance to her—and get her help against an insidious enemy.

Fans of Discovery of Witches and Vampire Diaries will devour C.L. Carhart's triumphant small town paranormal romance. This is Skye and Karl’s complete story.

Buy now to start reading this hot new series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Carhart
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781954807303

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 Wind

Elemental Bloodlines

Book V

C.L. Carhart

Table of Contents

Brief Pronunciation Guide

Blurb

Notes & Triggers

Karl Hippler

Skye Stern

Karl

Skye

Karl

Skye

Karl

Skye

Karl

Skye

Karl

Skye

Skye

Karl

Karl

Skye

Skye

Skye

Karl

Skye

Skye

Karl

Skye

Author’s Note

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: 978-1-954807-30-3

https://clcarhart.com

Cover Design © J. L. Wilson Designs |

https://jlwilsondesigns.com

For Helge

Your restaurant lives forever

within these pages. Thanks for bringing

a taste of Germany to western NC.

Brief Pronunciation Guide

Amira – Ah-MEER-uh

Jasmin – YAZ-min

Rohde – ROH-duh

Teutonica – Too-TAHN-ih-kuh

Teya – TAY-uh

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

Wilda – VILL-duh

Wildertal – VILL-der-tahl

Wuotan – VOH-tahn

Zehra – Zeh-RAH

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

Blurb

Second chance or impending disaster? A scarred witch collides with her darkest muse.

Skye

The last time I saw Karl, life’s cruelty had not yet damaged me. A naïve teen with romantic daydreams. That was before my life combusted. Before Karl abandoned me. Before a ruthless elder demolished my hopes.

Now as I look my past in the eye, my body yearns to blend my wintry wind with his alluring ice. But my heart hesitates to trust the man who broke it long ago. This can’t end well.

Karl

I’ve made more mistakes than I can count since I became a Teuton priest. When an opportunity to right my wrongs arises, I can’t ignore it—even if it means facing Skye again. The witch whose magic wholly entrances mine.

But our years apart shattered us both. Skye might not believe I’ve matured, but I’ll do anything to prove my allegiance to her—and get her help against an insidious enemy.

~*~

Gift of Wind is a second chance paranormal (mf) romance with witches and is Book 5 in the Elemental Bloodlines series. It is Skye and Karl’s complete story.

Notes & Triggers

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 Linz 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 or Germany 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.

This book begins six years after the events in Gift of Water and Gift of Darkness.

Words in the fictional Teutonic dialect are italicized.

~*~

This book includes content that might be triggering for some readers. There are instances of graphic sexuality, alcoholism, profanity, social prejudices, and mature themes. This book is an MF romance with a HEA.

Sign up for the author’s newsletter to download Gift of Air, the series prequel.

https://bf.clcarhart.com/6w57qgfhc9

Chapter One:

Karl Hippler

Snow-dusted wreaths and tinsel decorated homes and storefronts on the outskirts of Graz in honor of the winter holidays, the crisp chill in the air granting my magic a welcome boost. On a Saturday morning in mid-December, few people milled about aside from those awaiting the bus or walking their dogs. A man I saw every weekday on my walk to the coffee shop exchanged nods with me when we passed each other, his Boxer huffing out clouds of warmth with each pant. Ready to return to the comforts of home and family.

Two things I did not have and would not get for the foreseeable future, as I lifted my gaze toward the coffee shop’s entrance at the next corner. Maybe I should have ignored that enigmatic message, pretended it had dropped unseen into my spam folder. I could turn around and head back to my apartment right now. Or change my path once I reached the corner and lose myself in the downtown throngs of people about their Christmas shopping.

I did not have to reenter the secret conclave of the Teutons. Not after four years of running from the demon who haunted every attempt I made to find my place among my own people. A priest who could not conduct a successful blood-transfer. A priest who could not save his wife from bleeding to death in childbirth. A priest the elders derided, whose bumbling efforts provoked Wuotan’s scorn.

I shuddered beneath my jacket despite how winter’s caress revitalized my elemental ice. My feet ground to a halt paces from the oaken door into the coffee shop, my gaze passing over the two junipers that framed its entrance. Snowflakes glistened upon their branches, and blue string lights twinkled their praise for the season. Shutting my eyes for a split second, I took a deep breath and ordered myself to reclaim the courage that flowed through my veins when I was much younger. Before repeated failures kicked me to the curb.

If you didn’t want this, you’d never have come back to Austria in the first place, I muttered to myself in Teutonic dialect, taking a quick look around to make sure no one noticed my hesitation. A woman scraped snow from her stoop on the opposite side of the street, and a stocky man strode toward the bus stop at the far end of the block. Neither looked my way.

Neither wielded an element. Most of the residents of Graz were outsiders, one reason I chose this city as my latest base. I had thought maybe I could manage to remain incognito in a place apart from Teuton lands. But this morning I must confront someone whose existence had never crossed my mind. A powerful crone who wished to lure me out of my anonymity. A matriarch whose summons I could not spurn, even if her message had not awakened my long-dormant curiosity.

What did the Lady of Wels want with a disgraced Teuton priest?

I entered the coffee shop and closed the door behind me, the abrupt change in temperature always a shock. A relief to most people, but not to one whose spirit pulsed with ice’s cold. That mystical sense innate to all Teutons pinpointed one similar aura occupying a plush chair before the window to my right, my magic acknowledging hers without words. Of course she had arrived first and staked out territory for our rendezvous. Of course.

You’re lucky she didn’t demand you meet her in Wels, I reminded myself as I approached the counter, not casting a glance toward that chair or the empty one that awaited me. At least this is familiar terrain, after six months of buying your morning coffee from Hanni. Who apparently doesn’t work on Saturdays.

Although I hardly needed caffeine with my brain on high alert, I ordered a black Brazilian roast and added a pair of sugar packets myself, not trusting the kid behind the counter to prepare my usual drink correctly. After stirring the contents of my cup for a bit too long—thanking heaven there were no other Teutons in the shop—I squared my shoulders and marched toward the pair of plush chairs with a diminutive round table between them. No matter how uncertain I felt about this meeting, I must present myself with dignity before the witch who harbored the soul of Wels.

Halting beside the table, I paused before seating myself to regard the woman who had called me back toward the hidden community I had evaded for four years. The Lady of Wels was an elder, her short white hair tucked around her ears, her sharp gray eyes observing me from behind a pair of thick bifocals. She wore a cream sweater flecked with gold and a pair of sleek gray slacks, her snow boots matching the sea green parka draped over the back of her chair. Her withered hands cupped a mug of spiced cider in her lap, and her gaze held mine without flinching.

She pursed her lips but did not speak. My nerves returned in a hurry as my magic judged hers as far stronger than mine, augmented by her indelible bond with the Keyholder of Wels. She claimed snow, and I claimed ice. Why had my throat shriveled like an overripe gourd?

"Leitalra." I greeted her at length, ducking my head and setting my cup on the table so I could remove my own jacket. Embarrassment fought to derail my efforts at appearing poised, but I could not fathom why. Was it because I had never met a Lady of a Teuton city before? That must be it.

After hanging my jacket on a hook beside the window, I sat onto the chair across from my formidable companion, not meeting her gaze as I reached out to take hold of my coffee cup. Right when I prepared to take my first sip, she spoke. Herr Karl Hippler. You’re not as frosty as I expected.

My eyes widened, an instinctive reaction, my element rising to sprinkle my blood with ice. Is that so? Should I give you a brief demonstration of my skills? The words left my lips before I could stop them. What the hell was wrong with me?

The Lady’s eyes twinkled with delight. Oh no, I don’t prefer to banter with posturing priests. I’ve done enough of that during my tenure. Besides, an outsider might notice if we conjure a blizzard in this cozy shop.

One of the icicles glistening on the eaves grew noticeably longer, my element detecting my companion’s magic altering nature in a playful manner. The Leitalra favored me with a calculating smirk when I looked back at her. A second later I realized my ice’s agitation had cooled my coffee. Great. Now I looked like a novice.

So why exactly would someone of your caliber come here to meet a cityless priest who prefers to keep to himself? I eyed her as I finally took a sip of coffee. My spirit reached for the air’s innate warmth, calling its heat back into my cup. A more complex type of magic I had learned while studying for the priesthood years ago. With my best friend from the university, a man whose warm wind helped me comprehend the practicality of ice’s polar opposite.

I wouldn’t have bothered had a dear friend of mine not informed me of intriguing developments floating along the breeze in a village you know well. The Lady lifted her mug to her lips, her gray eyes studying my face. It seems the Teutons of the mountains seek to hold an inquest into possible crimes committed at the Teutonic asylum. A place where no Lady or Keyholder holds authority.

Oh. My lips remained parted after I spoke, surprise prompting my ice to cool my blood again. Memories from before I fled my hometown bombarded me, and I took another sip of coffee to mask my uneasiness. The determination in the eyes of my childhood peer, Doro, as she and her wife researched a batch of crystals that harbored stories about the asylum’s patients. The wistful letters my younger sister used to send to our Tante Petra, the blue-fired witch confined because of her mental instability. Confined for others’ safety, our uncle always told us.

I had questioned the general consensus on the asylum for years. But I never imagined a chance to take action. Setting my cup onto the table, I locked eyes with my elderly companion, a request for more information on the tip of my tongue.

But she spoke first, her voice slicing my chest with a blade. I’ve also heard that the Teutons of the mountains are working with a very dangerous Cursed One. An undead priest without control over the fatal sorcery connected to his anger.

With effort, I maintained an expression of cool interest, hesitant to admit my familiarity with the Black Priest she referenced. I see.

It pains my heart whenever our people believe they have no other recourse but to ask the dead for help, the Leitalra went on, her element glimmering in her eyes as she looked out the window at the wintry street beyond. Especially when the priest involved is an unknown entity. These are the moments I wish Konstantin still walked among us. He could have kept Setzer on the straight and narrow, and unearthed this new Cursed One from his lair.

Blinking rapidly, I forced myself to shift my gaze from the Lady’s pensive face to my half-empty coffee cup. This conversation had taken an odd turn. How could the Leitalra of Wels speak of a long lost Cursed One by his first name—and imply he could have kept the current occupant of the Black Castle ‘on the straight and narrow’? No Black Priests walked the path of light. They were bound in service to a demon, resurrected in Wuotan’s river of fiery blood.

At least, that was what Teuton priests were taught. What did this Lady’s Keyholder think of her reminisces about a demon’s slave?

Maybe she was going senile.

There is a Black Priest who resides in the mountains near Wildertal, I said at length, deciding I must nip a portion of my companion’s comments in the bud. Her gaze returned to mine as I stated, Wuotan requires a true exile of him, so it’s best if we avoid prying into his affairs.

Hmm. You might want to remind the young witches of Wildertal about that if so. When you left your hometown four years ago, your local conclave of Teutons had no priest to guide and protect them.

Guilt jabbed a stake into my gut, and I looked at my hands in my lap. She was right. I had run like a coward after I learned my wife had died, forsaking the other Teutons who called Wildertal home. Had I left them to the dark influence of an unstable Cursed One? The undead wretch who chose a wife from the outside, blinded her, gave her his blood, and hid her away from the world?

You think I should go back.

Personally, I think you’re a heartless rake for abandoning your daughter. The Leitalra cleared her throat. But it seems—

"My daughter?! I leapt to my feet, this new revelation jolting my heart with a lightning bolt. You—are you saying—my daughter’s alive?!"

The Lady remained in her seat and favored me with a severe frown. You would have known that already if you’d bothered to communicate with your parents while you sought your fortune outside of Teuton lands. Have you found peace and success in the wide world, I wonder?

Gasping, I clutched my throat as I recalled my father’s words the last time we talked on the phone. Right after my wife’s heart vanished from my hands. Lori’s spirit ascended not long ago. They took your daughter to the NICU. She’s so tiny. She hasn’t cried. The doctors aren’t sure—

I had hung up on him and wandered in a haze through the conference he insisted I attend on behalf of our family’s construction business. Wandered blindly until I found an empty room to indulge my grief. And there, Wuotan confronted me in the darkness, mocking my failure to protect my wife, my failure to appease his despicable greed.

I thought Wuotan took her too, I choked, my whole body trembling while I fought to keep my magic contained within my spirit. I set my right hand atop the back of the chair I had vacated, a desperate plea for stability.

I don’t know what sort of deals you cut with that demon, but it’s time for you to face the facts. Your daughter is alive and well. Her grandparents are looking after her, along with her great-grandmother. She sent me a video of Nixie that might bring you around.

My thoughts branched in jumbled directions as I focused on the Leitalra, so prim in her seat while she dug a smartphone from her sea green purse. Nixie, I murmured, astonished at how completely my prospects had shifted in a single instant. So I had a family after all, a daughter. She had just turned four last month. I had missed her birthday.

And every other important moment of her life thus far.

Failure.

Before I realized what was happening, I stood behind the Lady’s chair and stared down at her phone. A little girl with brown pigtails danced in a parlor that was vaguely familiar, a purple platypus hugged to her chest. Is that your favorite birthday present? inquired a voice I recognized as that of my hometown’s beloved forest witch, Lady Ilsa. Nixie’s great-grandmother.

I love my duck! the little girl squealed, beaming. Tante Jasmin gave me him!

What’s his name? Lady Ilsa asked in an amused tone from somewhere off camera.

Snoozy! He’s a sleepy duck! Nixie closed her eyes and laid her head against the platypus’ bill, then started to hum a lullaby.

Are you excited to see Tante Jasmin at Christmas?

And Onkel Gregor and Leonie! Nixie added. She reopened her eyes and whispered, Maybe Papa will come home for Christmas.

Ice pricked the corners of my eyes and I stepped away from the Lady’s chair, struggling to maintain my composure. I looked around at the familiar hues of the coffee shop, realizing my time in Graz had come to an end. Although I had found financial success while journeying here and there in an attempt to escape the losses haunting me, my soul had never found peace. Maybe I could turn my life around if I went back home, made myself available to those in my community.

Maybe I could build a relationship with my daughter. Her Papa.

Will you make Nixie’s Christmas wish come true? the Leitalra questioned as I sat back down in the chair opposite her, taking up what remained of my coffee. Her voice probed deep, awakening a fresh purpose in my heart.

I’ll see what I can do, I responded, savoring the last of my coffee as I held her gaze. She had tucked her phone back into her purse, which she placed onto the table beside her empty mug. You played your cards well. Bringing up the asylum issue first, then the Black Priest, and finally lancing me through the heart with that video of Nixie. My daughter.

My lips curved into a cautious smile, and the Leitalra gave a soft chuckle. You have a tough road ahead of you if you intend to prove your worth. While your parents have painted a positive picture of you before your daughter, my dear friend is a bit more cautious. She’s dealt with her share of worthless Teuton priests.

How do you know Lady Ilsa? I raised an eyebrow at my companion, her apparent connection to a cityless forest witch baffling me.

We grew up together, just like you grew up together with Doro. The witch who’s dabbling deeper into the darkness than she should. The matriarch of Wels folded her hands in her lap and nodded once.

Right. I suppose I’d better find out just what’s going on in Wildertal these days. I glanced out the window while my brain compiled a list of tasks to complete before I departed Graz. Thank goodness I had not been here long.

"It might interest you to know that a certain witch you used to—ahem—see during your time at the university has taken steps to settle in Wildertal herself."

I had started to climb to my feet with the intent of retrieving my coat and parting ways with the crone. But now my ass plunked back into the chair as my heart rate escalated, images from a decade ago splashing my world with vibrant colors. Are you—are you talking about Relli?

She goes by Skye now. But yes. It would seem she hasn’t forgotten what the two of you shared before life pulled you separate ways.

Chapter Two:

Skye Stern

I’m going back to Austria.

The multitude of voices and clattering silverware faded into the background as soon as I confessed the urge that had lurked within me for several weeks. Photos of Wilda’s little boys—and of her resting in the arms of a decent man in the serene splendor of an Alpine village—had not broken through my invisible shackles. Nor had Teya’s emails describing her adventures with her priestly Truhtein.

But in the message she sent at the end of November, Teya dropped a hint that awakened something deep within my