The Invisible Ring

for some reason, even animals would find a spot to shelter in, wouldn’t they?
    Made uneasy by that thought as well as Garth’s continued distress, Jared sent out a wide psychic probe that spanned the narrow road and extended several yards on either side. A few seconds later, he choked back a shiver of fear.
    Still out of sight but coming steadily toward them were thirteen Blood males—twelve Warlords . . . and a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord Prince whose psychic scent had that distinctive blend of viciousness and passion that separated Warlord Princes from other males. They were a law unto themselves, no matter what Jewels they wore. And they were always dangerous.
    Jared took a step back before he could stop himself. “Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.” He whipped around to face Randolf and Brock. “Get everyone back to the wagon. Now!”
    Brock narrowed his eyes as if that would let him see farther in the pouring rain. “Jared—”
    “NOW!”
    Brock and Randolf looked at Garth, who was now standing in the middle of the road with his legs far enough apart for good balance and his huge hands clenched. Nodding grimly, they wrapped their hands around his thick-muscled arms and dragged him toward the wagon, leaving Jared alone on the road.
    Jared raked one hand through his dark hair and swore when the rain squeezed out by the motion trickled down his back.
    Thirteen men, all of them wearing Jewels. He’d pulled back the moment his psychic probe had touched the Sapphire shield and he realized it belonged to a Warlord Prince, so there hadn’t been time to discern how dark the other Jewels were. The Sapphire was probably the strongest among them, but that didn’t help much. If he were free to use the Red Jewels, he could take a Warlord wearing the Sapphire. But the Red were only one Jewel rank darker than the Sapphire. That wasn’t enough of an advantage against a man who was, by his very nature, a killer. A Warlord Prince wasn’t going to stand back and let anyone strike at his lighter-Jeweled followers. And if he was rogue, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from a fast, vicious strike that would leave most of them helpless.
    Except the Gray. If that Gray strength was unleashed . . .
    Jared shuddered, his mind suddenly filled with the image of a chess piece scampering around the board, attacking, defending.
    You’re a slave. Remember that! You’re a slave.
    It should have mattered. It didn’t. He couldn’t stand by and watch the Gray Lady risk herself in a battle while there was one man among them who was still standing.
    The Warlord Prince and his men came into sight a couple of minutes later. In the waning light and the rain, they were nothing more than dark, moving shapes, but he felt the power that swirled around them.
    And the anger.
    For a moment he just stood there, torn between his instincts to protect and the reality of his position. As a slave, he was forbidden to wear the Jewels, and without that reservoir of power, all he had was the strength that was always within him. Granted, it was a deeper well than most of the Blood had, but not enough against a Sapphire who could draw on his reserves and sustain the attack.
    Jared turned away and kept a measured stride as he walked back to where the wagon had stopped. He felt a swift, light probe brush against his inner barriers and pushed back instinctively, letting the Warlord Prince know for certain that he would face one man who was a Jewel rank darker.
    As he approached the wagon, he smiled grimly. Interesting how easily all the males had responded to the protective instinct. Brock and Randolf had placed themselves so they effectively blocked the narrow road. Ludicrous since they weren’t wearing Jewels and didn’t have any weapons. Then he caught the look in Brock’s blue eyes and wondered what hidden things the guard might be carrying.
    Garth hovered near the wagon. The children and Polli were bunched next to the rear wheel. Thayne held the team of horses and anxiously watched Blaed, who was standing in the middle of the road, a peculiar, blank expression in his hazel eyes.
    A jolt of realization swept through Jared, strong enough to take his breath away. Mother Night. Courteous, easygoing Blaed was a Warlord Prince.
    As their eyes met, Jared felt some emotion—pain? regret?—flash through Blaed.
    Knowing he’d have to talk to the younger man later—if there was a later—Jared nodded as he passed Blaed and continued to the