Free Jacob's Trial [Forbidden Legacy 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Heather Long

forces. The Brotherhood of the Rose Cross represented the reclusive gentry among the Wizarding Council. They preferred an aesthetic adherence to the Wizard code, with little regard for who they trampled in the name of their cause.
    Nearly a century before, he’d turned down Vanagan’s attempts to recruit him to their side. Jacob lived in the world, a part of it, not separate, divorced from human concerns.
    Close.
    The whispered word rolled through his mind as Domoir downshifted, tires scraping smoke from the pavement as he turned hard right and shot down an alley into a series of dingy-looking warehouses, grass-cracked pavement, and wavering chain-link fences.
    The Glashtyn spun a one-eighty, braking hard to face their pursuers head-on, and Jacob popped the seat belt and exited to stand next to the creature. Steam rose from the beast’s heaving sides as he shimmered, taking his true shape of a great black horse, with fire flickering in his eyes and cloven hooves striking sparks against the cement.
    Four sedans slid into a V formation, blockading the exit. Magic surged through the air, raising the hairs on his body, a shimmer bubbling the cracked pavement with its litter of old newspapers, dusty refuse, and broken liquor bottles. Rats scrabbled away at high speed, and a dustbin slammed as two stray toms leapt onto a rusted fire escape. A forgotten window fell shut, sending down a shower of clouded glass.
    “Wizard Book.” Vanagan stepped out of his car, but his three companions remained shrouded behind their blackened windshields and growling engines.
    “Wizard Marcus.” Jacob slid his left hand into his pocket, and his right hand gripped the gun he unholstered as he exited the vehicle. The weapon’s grip was warm on his palm and the gun’s metal cool against the pant leg.
    Vanagan Marcus was nearly seven hundred years old. The dangerous ancient dressed in completely unrelieved black from his duster to his combat boots. His head was topped by yin-yang hair in black and white, and a pair of aviator glasses shielded his silver-mirrored eyes. Everything about the man screamed death, pain, and suffering.
    With the most casual of shoves, he closed the door of his car and walked around to lean against the hood. He dwarfed his vehicle, his broad shoulders more suited for armor or wielding a giant axe than the keys he swung around his index finger.
    “You seem vexed, Book. What troubles thee?”
    “Really?” Jacob’s eyebrows rose over the tops of his sunglasses. The Wizard in the far-left car exited his vehicle, teleporting a dozen feet to Jacob’s immediate left, while the Wizard in the far right mirrored him by shifting a dozen feet to the Glashtyn’s right. The goblin creature shifted his position, facing that Wizard, challenge etched into every muscle.
    The fourth driver didn’t appear in Jacob’s periphery, but the hairs on the back of his neck told him where he’d gone. Jacob kept his gaze on Vanagan.
    “We do not have to do this the hard way, Book. You may simply surrender the boon we demand and this will be over.” Vanagan’s relaxed pose meant nothing. The man was a skilled combat Wizard with over five hundred years more experience than Jacob. He was the threat. To think otherwise would be foolish.
    Jacob was no one’s fool.
    “And what boon do you seek so aggressively, Wizard Marcus?”
    “The woman, Cassandra Belle.”
    The gauntlet of words slammed down on the pavement between them. Rolling his neck from side to side, Jacob’s joints crackled with tension.
    “The inquisitor general gave me three days to present her before the Council,” he hedged, pretending to misunderstand Vanagan’s demand.
    “I could care less what Gustav wants. This is not a matter for the Council.”
    “Those are treasonous words, Wizard Marcus.” And punishable by confinement, or Gustav could have him executed. The inquisitor general wasn’t known for his patience, goodwill, or compassion.
    “Save your politicking