Gift of stone, p.1
Gift of Stone, page 1
part #2 of Elemental Bloodlines Series
Gift of Stone
Elemental Bloodlines
Book II
C.L. Carhart
Table of Contents
Brief Pronunciation Guide
Blurb
Author’s Note
Flames of Loss
Choices
Peculiar Craving
A Spiritual Expedition
An Unforeseen Pivot
Henning Glossner
Investigations
Culture Clash
An Indulgent Heart
A Leitalra’s Sway
Sharing Burdens
Community
Baring My Soul
An Empowering Fate
Blood Revelations
Rash Action
Abject Cruelty
Soulless Villain
The Bonded Pair
Commitment
A Peek at Eternity
Ancient Justice
Destiny Affirmed
Mingling of Cultures
Six Years Later….
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.
DISCLAIMER: This book is intended for adults only. This book includes graphic sexual content, graphic violence, profanity, and mature themes. Please read at your own discretion.
ISBN: 978-1-954807-19-8
https://www.clcarhart.com
Edited by Elizabeth Johnson
Cover Design © J. L. Wilson Designs | https://jlwilsondesigns.com
For Becca
who prefers sagas like this
over my sweeter romantic tales.
Brief Pronunciation Guide
Anne – AH-nay
Befreiung – beh-FREYE-oong (eye is pronounced like eyeball)
Erlangen – AIR-lahng-en
Leitaeri – Leye-TARE-ee (eye is pronounced like eyeball)
Leitalra – Leye-TAHL-rah (eye is pronounced like eyeball)
Teutonica – Too-TAHN-ih-kuh
Truhtein – TROO-tine (tine is pronounced like a fork tine)
Wuotan – VOH-tahn
Zehra – Zeh-RAH
You can find a full pronunciation guide and translations at the end of this book.
Blurb
Magic is a valuable asset—until it pulls a newbie witch into unwanted romance.
Abandoned with mystical blood pulsing through my veins, I struggle to choose the best path forward. My newfound elemental gifts were supposed to help me save my family from bondage. But instead, magic has aroused a compulsion to offer my body and soul to a fiery priest I've never met.
My fated mate insists I should embrace our destiny, that we can accomplish more together than apart. Apparently, the entire Teuton community will suffer if we don't unite our bloodlines in ritual marriage. But he has no concept of the danger breathing down my neck, or what it could mean if my enemies learn of our connection.
Can I rescue my family while shielding my mate from the fallout? Or will the demons haunting my past destroy everything I hold dear?
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 München, Nürnberg, and Erlangen—can also be found in modern Germany.
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 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.
Some of the businesses in this story—like Befreiung and Pritzl—are fictional. Others? You would have to visit Erlangen yourself to find out.
Turkish words are italicized.
Words in the fictional Teutonic dialect are italicized.
Chapter One:
Flames of Loss
Scorching agony consumed me from the inside out. The stench of rotting blood, mingled with fires hotter than I had ever experienced, choked my lungs. I could not think. Anguish clouded my reason, twisted my emotions into abject hopelessness. I tried to scream, tried to thrash against a torment barred from my eyes. This had to be hell. Complete darkness. The eternity I deserved as a former sex slave with a tainted body. I had always known this would come for me one day.
Heaven held no place for a maiden raped a thousand times over.
It will be the greatest suffering we’ve ever known. But only temporary.
Someone had told me that before this all began. Who? A spark of memory reawakened in my brain, somewhere apart from the trauma. A spirit that refused to capitulate to the fires, to the cruel drowning of blood. My soul, the essence of my inmost self. I had agreed to do this. So had he.
So had he.
Philipp.
My Truhtein. My magnificent, loyal, and gracious Teuton master.
When it’s over, you will be just as strong as I am. Maybe even stronger.
I hope I’m dark energy like you.
These infernal flames charred my spirit, not my body. This was not death, nor was it hell. Sorcery beyond anything I ever imagined before I met Philipp. A terrible magic, one that could transform my standard human blood into something more. Something supernatural. Something Philipp insisted stemmed from angelic forces, from the light that pointed all creatures toward the divine.
Something no ordinary human could attain without deviating to the dark.
The Teutonic blood-transfer.
My spirit continued to convulse with pain, my screams tapering off as I tried to reassert my will. Death would be an easy escape. I sensed it lurking within the shadows, just beyond my reach, calling seductively for my surrender. If I released my tenuous grip on life, on the prospect of a future together with my Truhtein as his true equal, heaven may yet welcome me.
No. My master and I had too much to accomplish on earth. Freeing my mother from a conclave of human traffickers topped the list. We needed to work as a team to bring those criminals to justice. We could not do that if I surrendered to death, no matter how desperately I longed for it.
I needed to embrace the torment, fight the urge to flee into death’s relief. To do that, I needed a distraction. Something to cling to while my spirit burned.
Philipp . . . .
For the first time since this awfulness began, I managed to project a name, rather than mere cries of agony, into the river of flaming blood. Philipp was here, too. He had agreed to give his blood for me, to offer his elemental magic in hopes of awakening mine. Both of our spirits would drown in this crimson river until the ritual was complete. Until we regained consciousness as Teutons in full. Partners.
Unless one of us chose to succumb to eternity’s allure.
It occurred to me out of nowhere that maybe my Truhtein would fall prey to death’s call. Maybe he was not strong enough to resist. In my mind’s eye, he was invincible, his dark energy snapping in blackish-purple glory whenever he invoked his magic. But he was an old man. His spirit embodied resilience, but his mortal body? I had done my best to ignore its subtle signs of decay for months now.
Philipp!
I cried out his name again, shoving aside the torment of the flames. I could dissociate from this, too, just like I had done in my childhood whenever wicked males raped me on camera. This was no different. Temporary. I needed to focus, to find my beloved master. Grant him a portion of my undying tenacity.
Another memory flashed across my brain, a conversation I had with Philipp several days before my eighteenth birthday. Lenz will put drops in our eyes to blind us both before he starts the ritual, Philipp had told me, his blue-gray eyes grim and serious. Teuton priests believe it’s best for those who undergo the blood-transfer to do so in darkness, for sometimes frightening images appear in the bloody river. But there’s a way to regain your eyesight if you want to, during the process. You must simply envision the blinding liquid as a shield draped over your eyes, and ignite your willpower to peel it free.
Are you going to do that, when we’re in the bloody river? I had asked him, nervous about the idea of facing torture while unable to see. Sometimes my handlers had blindfolded me while they committed their crimes against me—a demon that often haunted my nightmares.
Philipp pursed his thin lips, his gaze shifting from my face to the window behind me. I might. If only for the privilege of seeing your spirit.
Then I’m going to do that, too, I had pledged fervently, resolved to be just as strong as my Truhtein. That was what I needed to do right now, as fires ate away at my spirit. Peel the shield away from my eyes and find my master.
It took more effort than I expected to tear the curtain away. I was well versed in Teutonic magic already, thanks to a hefty stack of books and Philipp’s guidance. But knowing something and doing something proved far different traits. Twice, I caught a glimpse of vivid red at the edges of my vision, and then the veil dropped back in place. I flexed my fingers and uttered a growl, trying again.
My fight to regain my eyesight took a tiny edge off of the torture, though the flaming blood continued to singe my spirit into dust. It surprised me that I was still alive. How much more of me could this place find to burn? Enough to grant me the Teutonic magic I’ve wanted for years, I told myself. An instant later, the shield fell away from my eyes. Fire immediately reached out to sear them.
Red everywhere. Anguish everywhere. I screamed again, my reason failing me. My arms appeared translucent as I thrashed against the thick liquid that drowned me. Translucent, yet glimmering with blood red fires. Madness.
No. I have to find Philipp.
I managed to transform my wails into Philipp’s name, striking out into the river at the same time. I kicked my legs and worked my arms in the breast stroke, a talent my Truhtein had taught me. Water no longer scared me, because I could swim. This river of blood was just another type of water. And apparently my lungs could breathe even in this place, even without discernible air.
Was this what it was like to be a Teuton?
Philipp! I cried out, pushing myself further, fighting against a current that sought to plunge me to the river’s depths. Truhtein, I’m here! Where are you?
Somewhere in the distance, I heard his voice. The same one that soothed me when images of my past shackled me in iron, convincing me of my worthlessness. That no male could ever want me now that I had breasts. Now that puberty had altered my body. A broken maiden, a weak failure.
Throughout the past five years, Philipp had patiently taught me otherwise. In his eyes, I was strong, a victor, triumphant. Every day, I fought to see myself the way he did. Right now, he needed the powerful Zehra. The one who would claw her way through tides of smoldering blood to reach him.
So I continued to swim, pushing waves of blood behind me as I pressed on. A corner of my brain began to wonder exactly how much longer this blood-transfer would last. How much longer must the two of us burn and drown? Had our priest—Philipp’s trusted friend, Lenz—placed two Teutonic arteries into my body and given my master two of mine? Would we wake to the morning sun and join our elements in mystical unity?
My eyes widened against the fiery blood as a strange new sense bombarded me from inside my spirit. I could feel my master’s dark energy, quivering as though its vitality had already chosen to succumb. To seize death’s sweet relief. Truhtein, please! I cried out in terror, desperation driving me toward him. Please don’t give in. I’m here with you. I’m here!
I could see him now, his spirit barely visible against the flaming blood. Just a faint trace of energy sparked along his limbs and torso, his teeth bared in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. He did not lash out at the currents, like I had done. His arms hung motionless, his life fading before my eyes. Philipp! I cried, reaching my right hand out to his left.
The eyes of his spirit opened and focused on me, dark energy draining from the rest of his essence to magnify their glow. Zeh . . . ra . . . my shining . . . star.
His mental voice sounded so feeble. If it were possible to cry in this place, my face would have been drenched in tears. I closed my fingers around his, silently begging him to stay, though the spark comprising his spirit dissipated in my grasp. Truhtein, don’t leave me, I pleaded, staring into his violet-black eyes.
Philipp’s thin lips stretched into the most brilliant smile I had ever seen in my life, and he expended all of his energy in his last words to me. Zehra, you are so strong! His pride washed over me, binding me in unconditional acceptance and love. His final gift to me.
Then his spirit crumbled away, his sentiments dissolving into hollowness. I shut my eyes, clenched my fists, and screamed out my desolation to the fire, to the blood, to the void, to the demon that had stolen my Truhtein from me. The blood-transfer was Wuotan’s ritual, and I would make him pay for this. Somehow. I would make him pay, and then I could seek the heaven Philipp had found—
I sat up straight in bed, the shadows of my master’s private chamber falling over me. A thick comforter tangled around my legs, my torso slaked in sweat, my heart hammering so hard it might leap free from my ribcage. Panting, I touched a hand to my forehead as reality dragged me into despair. I wrapped my bare arms around myself and quivered, vivid visions spearing me in the darkness.
I had suffered that exact dream every night since Philipp and I had done the blood-transfer on Monday, April 5th. My eighteenth birthday. The day I charged into official adulthood with Teuton blood and a new last name. The day my spirit returned to my torn body to find itself manifested as stone. One of three earthen Teutonic elements. Not the dark energy I had hoped to claim.
The day Philipp Liebig died giving his blood for me, leaving me completely alone in an empty mansion, our plans to continue hunting traffickers shattered to pieces. Our plans to marry as Teutons forever lost. Our plans to bind our hearts in magic and dream together every night never realized.
Now I would have to watch him die every night instead. Face my nightmares without his presence to calm me, never learn how peaceful it would be to sleep in union with my master. Never discover what it would be like to mate as Teutons, binding spirit and element in sensual bliss. Philipp had held me at a distance for so long, requiring that our relationship remain platonic until I reached adulthood. He was not like the criminals who had stolen my innocence years ago. He wanted a grown woman, a Teuton woman, a Zehra whose blood status matched his.
He had promised that we would marry on Monday night, the same priest who had performed the blood-transfer officiating our ritual wedding by the pool outside, beneath branches of oak and elm. But my spirit had returned to my body that morning to find my master’s unbreathing, his steady heart forever stilled.
A Teuton witch abandoned, her pining heart ground to dust.
After I had finished weeping over his body Monday morning, I shut myself into his private suite, locking the door to the hallway in a mad attempt to seal reality away. Every morning since, I awoke alone in his bed, ripped from the bloody river into utter desolation. Philipp’s familiar scent had already begun to vanish from the sheets. I would have to wash them at some point soon, catch up on the chores. I glanced at the blue numbers glowing from the digital clock on the bedside table. Five forty-six, April 9th, 2004.
Friday morning. Day four without my dedicated partner.
“Get up, Zehra,” I told myself, struggling against the urge to burrow under the blankets and moan for Philipp’s return. “Get out of bed.”
Despite the insidious weight of depression, I knew full well that eventually I would have to face the world alone. Step outside and find out whether the Teuton community could accept me as one of their own—a Turkish maiden who yearned to uncover the wonders of elemental magic, no matter the cost. As I made my way to the bathroom and switched on the light, my stomach grumbled, ordering that I assuage my basic bodily needs. I had eaten hardly anything since Monday morning, just a few snacks I found in Philipp’s personal suite. Pretzels, Landjäger sausage, and excess hard liquor. The alcohol dulled my heartache, if only for a moment.
I would have to shop for groceries all by myself. I had not seen the inside of a grocery store since my mother brought me along with her as a little girl.
My eyebrows arched downward in pain as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my deep brown eyes lightening into stone’s flat gray. My vision sharpened, showing me every frizz in my tangled hair, every blackhead nestled in the beige skin of my nose. My flesh hardened as I granted my magic free rein, my lips curving into a frown. If only my heart could turn to stone, too. It had troubled me since late Monday night, rebuking my sorrow for my dead master.
Two dark red scabs trailed upward from the left side of my chest. My tank top revealed their course as they split to cross my shoulders and travel down to my inner elbows. My blood was different now, two of my Truhtein’s arteries nestled within my flesh, granting me Teuton blood and all of its privileges. The blood-transfer was a sordid ritual, impossible by scientific standards.
