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

It’s cold and brutal, but I can’t argue with the big man’s logic.

A tug on my arm reminds me that Luca is still with us, listening to this conversation of killing and death. I feel like he shouldn’t be hearing such things, but he has seen, and survived, far worse. These dark subjects are probably as familiar to him as Go-Bots and Snickers bars were to me.

“Come to the beach,” Luca says. “I want to show you something.”

I would like nothing more than to spend a few quiet minutes with Luca, but I can feel the eyes of these hunters watching me. They’re clearly shocked by my presence and the fact that I’m alive, not to mention my hair, which honestly has me a little shaken.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I tell Luca.

He frowns and looks at his feet. I crouch in front of him and take his shoulders. His eyes look up so we’re face to face. It’s like staring into a mirror that sees the past. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“When you were taken,” I say, “I swore that I would get you back. And I did, right?”

He nods.

“And now I swear I will meet you at the beach.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, but the boy doesn’t smile.

“Daddy died,” he says, and throws himself into my arms. I hold the small child, thinking about how I would have handled the death of my father when I was six. Granted, Luca is a tougher child than I was, but we’re still wired the same way. His tears trickle down my shoulder. His little body shakes in my arms. I can feel my eyes growing wet, too, but like I said, the hunters are watching. I can’t show weakness. Not yet. Not until they know me and understand that, this…love, is where my strength comes from.

“I know,” I say, squeezing the boy. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls away and wipes his eyes, glancing around, and conscious that he too, is being watched, and judged. “You won’t die, will you?”

“I have already been to Tartarus and back,” I say. “I will not die.”

Luca smiles.

“And I will meet you at the beach. I won’t be long.”

He nods. “Okay.” And then he’s off, running toward the beach. A child again. I envy him for a moment and then stand to face the hunters.

They’ve gathered in a circle. Some in the tree above me. Some on the ground, arms crossed. A few continue with what they were doing before I arrived—preparing food, sharpening weapons, stretching leather—but their eyes are on me more than on their tasks.

“You’re right not to trust me,” I say, taking several of them off guard, including Em, who nearly falls over when she whips around toward me. “I am the chosen vessel of Nephil, broken, corrupted and trained by Ninnis. I contained the body of Nephil for years, and his darkness sometimes consumed me. The spirit of Nephil entered me as well, and I spent the last three months in Tartarus, a land of torture for the corrupt. You have reason to not trust me.”

Some hunters lower their hands, trying to look casual, but I know they’re really just putting their hands closer to their weapons. Kainda, on the other hand, is a rock. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She stares at me with serious eyes, waiting for me to finish. Her gaze unnerves me far more than the hunters reaching for their weapons do, mostly because, for some reason, I care about what she thinks.

“You are hunters,” I say. “You are cautious and slow to trust. As you should be. These traits kept you alive in the underworld when you fought for your life every day. But, you no longer fight for your life. You fight for each other’s lives, and for a world beyond, which some of you have never seen…and the rest have forgotten. It’s time to start trusting, or you all will die.”

Em looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t stop me. She’s probably wondering where I’m going with this just like the rest of them.

“And you will have to trust me. Most of you know me as Ull, the chosen vessel of Nephil, meant to rule over Nephilim and hunter alike. But that’s just part of my name, part of who I am. My real name is Solomon Ull Vincent. I was taken from my parents and tortured by the hunter named Ninnis. For a time, I forgot myself. My home. My parents. My friends. I did things that crushed me with guilt.

“I can see your hair,” I say. “The streaks of brown, black and yellow. I know you feel the weight, too. But you can be free of it. I once held the body of Nephil, it is true, but I cast it out. As I did with the spirit of Nephil. As I did with the guilt that consumed me before I opened the gates of Tartarus and stepped out. I was told that I would be the last hunter. That I would usher in the time when hunters were no longer needed. The Nephilim believed they would no longer need hunters after reclaiming the surface. But they were wrong.”