The Last Hunter: Collected Edition (Antarktos Saga #1-5)

Of course, they don’t yet know who I am. Who I really am. And the evil that lives inside me. But I will tell them soon. They need to know that I’m not just an average escapee. Not telling them would put them in more danger than I care to consider. If I’m to shed any more of this blood red hair—like Tobias—I must embrace everything the Nephilim abhor. I’ve done a good job with forgiveness, mercy and love, but need to add honesty to the mix.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I fail to notice the shifting view of the mountains to my left. I just keep my eyes on the ground, following Tobias. We’re walking along an old path, worn down by the occasional passage of modern man. The firm ice and treaded gouges left by numerous Sno-Cats ensure that we won’t leave any footprints behind. My eyes linger on the tread marks. There have been fifteen thousand, five hundred and twenty-one grooves. I didn’t mean to count them. I barely noticed I had. But when the number pops into my conscious thoughts, it snaps me from my reverie.

A sudden weakness sweeps through my body. I let out a grunt and fall to my knees.

Tobias is by my side in a flash. “Are you all right?”

I feel winded. Emotional. Desperately close to something. Something I have craved since I left Antarctica as a baby.

I’ve felt this intense draw once before. I look up and see the Sno-Cat tracks stretching toward the horizon.

“Is he okay?” Em asks.

I feel Tobias’s hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says.

“We’re there,” I say.

His hand pulls away.

“How…did you know?”

“This is home,” I say, looking to my left. Except for a shift in the white, snow-coated areas of the massive stone mountains, the view matches my memory perfectly.

“Solomon,” Em says. “This is our home, but how did you know?”

“I’ve been here before.”

Em turns to Tobias. “Is he the boy?”

“You dug in the ice,” Tobias says. “Until you bled. We watched from a distance. I had to recover the small portion of ceiling you uncovered.”

I nod briefly and take several deep breaths to steady myself. The emotional surge that caught me off guard is fading. I need to get harder, I think. If something like this happened at a crucial moment, I’d be dead. But how can I repel all things Nephilim while simultaneously becoming some kind of hard-hearted warrior? Isn’t that exactly what they are?

“Solomon.” Tobias’s voice sounds serious. He senses I’m holding something back and it has him on edge. “When you dug in the ice. That wasn’t your first time here, was it?”

With a shake of my head, I say, “No.”

“Father,” Em says. “I don’t understand. This place has been buried for—” She gasps as something occurs to her.

She does that a lot, I think. Gasping. It’s kind of a funny habit for a hunter—an ex-hunter.

“You don’t think…” She crouches down in front of me, looking at my face, which is hidden behind a hood and sunglasses. “Are you him? Are you the baby?”

A thousand memories of this place, seen through the eyes of a baby, flash through my mind. Many of the memories involve the rusty ceiling as I lay on my back, but there are also smiling faces and cooing voices. My mother and father. Dr. Clark. Aimee. The emotions surge again, but I fight against them this time. If they start to see me as a blubbering, over-emotional nutcase, they might not trust me. And if they don’t trust me, they will never help me. I need allies, I remind myself. Pull it together.

At least they can’t see my face, so the effort I put into calming my voice and regaining my feet is hidden from them. “Yes,” I say. “I was born here. This…was my home.”

“It’s him,” Em says to her father, her voice a whisper. She digs into her coat, opening a pouch hidden within. She pulls out a small, white square. “It’s you.”

I take the paper from her hand and turn it over. It’s a photo of a baby. A boy, I think. The photo is a Polaroid, like the one I carry around. The baby has bright blue eyes, a one inch ring of fuzz around its head and a goofy smile. The rainbow-striped, afghan blanket the baby lays on catches my attention. I’ve had it since the day I was born. My mother made it. “This photo is of me.”

Tobias and Em look at each other. “Father, it’s him!”

He turns to me and says, “It’s a good thing we didn’t kill you.”

“Why, exactly, is that good thing?” I ask. I can think of several good reasons, but I’m a stranger to these people. Sure, they’ve been living in Clark Station One, and happened to find a photo of me, which is surprising, but I sense there is more going on here.

“You are the first and only son of Antarctica,” Em says.

“Stories of your birth have been told in the underworld for years,” Tobias says. “The Nephilim have been awaiting your return. We have been awaiting your return as well. I should have realized it was you that day, digging through the ice. How else could you have known about this place? I could have taken you then. Spared you the—”

I take a step back, my defenses coming up. “Taken me? You would have taken me, too? Are you no better than them?” I stab my finger downward.