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Diablo stormed into their father’s lair, leaving the heavy wooden door open
     behind them. Their faces were flushed with anger, their eyes wide with disbelief.
    “Have you heard the news?” Dane practically shouted, his wild, dark eyes dazed with
     confusion. “They say he didn’t burn! Saber . They say he’s still alive.”
    “What the hell happened?” Diablo demanded.
    Damien buried his head in his hands. Dark Lords, how am I going to talk my way out of this one ? A piece of his heart rejoiced—Saber was still alive—yet the more rational part knew
     his own days were numbered now that his treason was certain to be uncovered. “I don’t
     know,” he mumbled. “I’m still trying to gather information, myself.”
    “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know ?” Diablo sneered. “Father, what is going on?”
    Before Damien could come up with a plausible answer, a band of five soldiers stormed
     into the room, each bearing the official tattoo of the colony’s formal guard on his
     upper arm. The large circular tattoos undulated like snakes wrapped around hard muscle
     as each guard clutched his weapon in his right hand and dangled a diamond choker in
     his left.
    The tallest of the five, a seven-foot male named Achilles Zahora, squared off to Damien
     and cleared his throat. “Damien Alexiares, we have been ordered by the Dark Council
     to detain you and your sons.”
    His second-in-command, a shorter, barrel-chested male by the name of Blaise Liska,
     stepped forward to flank Achilles’s side, the gesture issuing an immediate threat
     to Damien.
    Dane spun around in a fury, jumped in front of his father, and pushed Damien behind
     him. “What the hell are you talking about?” he stormed, impulsive as always. “Back
     up!” He released a wicked set of fangs and snarled. “I’m not playing with you, Blaise.
     Back. The. Hell. Up!”
    The guard didn’t budge, and he was quickly joined by the remaining three soldiers.
     “Dane…” He softened his voice. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
    Diablo strolled into the mix then, taking a place beside his brother. “What is this ?” he asked. He turned to look at his father. “Dad?”
    Damien held both hands out in front of him, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender.
     “Soldiers, please.” He drew in a deep breath and gestured toward his sons. “This has
     nothing to do with my sons; I will go with you peacefully. Just leave my family out
     of it.”
    Dane gasped in disbelief, but before he could speak, Achilles stepped forward. “Sorry,
     Damien. No deal. The council said all of you.” A scarlet lock of the soldier’s chin-length,
     black-and-red hair fell forward, blocking his left eye, and he let it hang, undisturbed.
     His right eye shone by contrast like a laser in the night sky, the oddly pale yet
     rich citrine color illuminated against his bronze complexion. He held out a pair of
     diamond-studded handcuffs.
    “What are those for?” Diablo demanded, his own ire clearly rising to a dangerous level.
     The tension in the room could have been sliced with a knife.
    “Diablo, don’t,” Damien said cautiously. He turned to regard Blaise with pleading
     eyes. “What does the Colony Guard want with my boys?”
    “Sorry,” the soldier answered. “Not privy to that information. The council speaks;
     we act.”
    Damien shook his head in frustration. So, this was what it had come to?
    For the briefest moment, he considered fighting, knowing that his boys would have
     his back. The three of them could take out at least as many soldiers, maybe one more,
     but ultimately, they could not defeat Achilles or Blaise. The males were too seasoned
     as soldiers, trained to the nth degree in mortal combat as a way of being—hell, of
     breathing. The pair would get militant, and Damien and his sons would be subdued.
     He tried to reason rationally: What could they possibly want with his sons, other
     than to question them? This