Wolf Hunted, стр. 30
I saw only the palm of my hand. I felt only air. But I knew I held the box even though it had completely vanished from my perception. “I hate concealment enchantments,” I grumbled.
Sal blasted out an enthusiastic agreement.
Dag stared at my hand. “You’re not seeing residual magic? An outline, or a shadow?”
“I don’t think I dare move my hand,” I said. Anything could happen. The spellwork could force me to drop the box. We might forget I’d even removed it from the tree, and then I’d have a concealed camera trap rolling around in the bed of my truck.
“Open the toolbox,” I said.
Dag popped the lid on the box mounted behind the cab and pulled out the purple cloth Magnus had meant for Sal so she’d be comfortable when riding in the back.
“Are you okay with us getting your blanket dirty?” Dag asked my axe.
Sal did one of her mental shrugs. She understood that we all had to make sacrifices if we were to get rid of the much more annoying concealment enchantments.
Dag wrapped the cloth around my hand—and the box. I was definitely holding something shaped like a common camera trap housing. Rounded corners manifested under the fabric, as did the window through which the camera took its pictures.
“My gut tells me our interloper is responsible.” Dag looked out at the boarded-up house.
“I suspect so.” I slowly moved toward the toolbox doing my best to hold my hand as level and steady as possible.
“No one sets up one camera trap,” she said.
No, they did not. “I don’t think either of us is going to have a calm Sunday evening.” I carefully placed the camera into Sal’s toolbox slot.
“Looks that way.” Dag hopped out of my truck. “If we have hidden camera traps out here, I want them found. I won’t have the pack running in compromised territory.”
I set Sal next to the tailgate and hopped out the bed.
Dagrun frowned like a monarch who knew that the strong emotions of upset werewolves would bleed over into the elves—and the local mundanes.
Which they would. Ed was right to be worried.
She looked away and closed her eyes. “I must return to my husband.”
She may have overshared earlier, but no more. I could sense, though, that the Elf Queen and King were not simply honeymooning.
“I’ll take it to Bjorn.” I set Sal on my shoulder.
Dag squeezed my elbow, then walked away. I placed Sal in the pocket on the back of the passenger seat. And the three of us drove back to Alfheim—our Queen to her re-honeymoon, and my axe and I on our way to see the two thunder elves about a box.
Chapter 13
I had two elves and a werewolf in the bed of my truck. Bjorn leaned over the toolbox, one hand on the lid and the other hovering over the purple cloth, unleashing a torrent of his lightning-intense, richly-colored magic. Lennart squatted next to Bjorn’s side as if reading the currents of Bjorn’s spellwork as he added to his own stormy bolts and shudders. Remy Geroux squatted on the other side of Bjorn, sniffing at the air as if attempting to pick up anything the elves missed. And I stood next to the truck to keep watch so that we could work in peace, even though I’d parked the truck in the rear of the still-busy Raven’s Gaze parking lot.
Remy, like his brother, had a density to him even though he was small compared to a lot of the local mundanes. I’d long suspected the solidity of the Geroux brothers came as much from their French trader heritage as it did from their wolf-ness, but in Remy and Gerard, their two modes of strength accentuated each other.
He didn’t seem all that happy about returning to Alfheim. “Portia Elizabeth says hi, by the way.” He rubbed at his recently-cut dark hair before tugging on his well-tailored shirt.
Remy Geroux had returned from Las Vegas well-groomed and better dressed than he had been going down.
Portia Elizabeth, his mate and the wearer of an inexplicable red magic, had turned out to be a good influence on one of Alfheim’s alphas. She was another woman who deserved more respect than the magic world gave her. Anyone who could overcome their dark nature, manage an unknown magic, and survive Las Vegas was a goddess in my book.
Even if we hadn’t gotten along at first. But she had been instrumental in Arne and Dag’s ascendance among the Elven Courts.
“She doing well?” I asked
He smirked.
I chuckled and shook my head. “You two are going to have to figure out the long distance issue,” I said. “You can’t move there.” He couldn’t. Her innate sexual magic would turn him into a mindless mate-slave.
He sighed. “We all do what we have to for love,” he said.
Yes, we did.
“Got it,” Bjorn called out.
Lennart and Remy stood. Bjorn scooped his hands into the box and lifted out the purple cloth.
The glowing ball of magic encompassing the cloth and the camera trap was so bright I squinted. Remy twisted his head and grimaced as if the entire parking lot screamed with a shrill, high-pitched squeal. Lennart stared at the ball with wide eyes.
Bjorn jumped out of the back of my truck in one fluid, professional-athlete-worthy leap, and landed so gracefully the ball of magic floated jostle-free and steady. Lennart followed with his own spectacular leap.
Not to be outdone by the elves, Remy vaulted over the side of the bed and walked out of his landing as if he’d just finished up a quality massage.
Moments like this served to remind me who were the magicals among Alfheim’s population and who was just a giant-sized, reconstituted mundane who happened to see magic.
“Bjorn,” I called. “We need to check for other cameras.”
He handed the ball of magic to Lennart. “Take it in,” he said.
Lennart pulled his Bulldogs hat