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

To see her like this—at peace and happy—it’s almost worth trying to fight off the Kerubim. But there is more to life than personal happiness.

“You know we do,” I tell her. I want to tell her there are places like this in the outside world, but that’s a lie, and I think she’d know it. Then I think of something that might dull the pain of leaving the garden. “I saw your father.”

Her face darkens slightly. “I saw. He nearly killed you.”

“That was Nephil.” I nearly correct her by saying that he didn’t want to kill, but to possess me, but I don’t want to argue semantics right now.

“Ninnis would kill you, too.”

“Belgrave,” I say.

“What?”

“Your father’s name is Belgrave Edward Sutton Ninnis.”

She looks me in the eyes and without saying a word, asks how I could know such a thing.

“He told me,” I say, teasing out the moment.

“His name is Ninnis. Only Ninnis. That’s all he has ever known.”

I nod. She’s right about that. “Until I blew the shofar.”

She stares at me, not quite following.

“It returned him,” I explain. “All of him. He remembered his past. His life before Antarktos. His wife. Everything. It was just a moment, but when I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see a hunter. He was just a man. And...he thanked me.”

We stop by the shore. “Then there is hope,” she says, “that I will not always...be like this?” She motions at her body, strong and battle-hardened.

The question catches me off guard. Kainda is so tough, so confident in herself and her abilities that it never occurred to me that she might not like the hunter in her. Somewhere in there is the woman she could have been if she wasn’t born into a world of murder, hate and bloodlust.

She pulls her red braided hair around where she can see it. “I am so tired of this color.”

Kainda’s not vain so I immediately understand that she’s talking about the corruption the hue represents. It’s a constant reminder of the tortures she endured and the killer she was raised to be.

Em has overheard the conversation. She’s looking at us with wet eyes. This is hard for them both. Edinnu has provided them with a taste of what it feels like to not be corrupted, to be freed from the Nephilim. As hard as it is for me to leave the garden, it must be far more difficult for them.

Only Kat seems indifferent, but I suspect it’s because she has never been broken and reformed. She’s a killer, sure, but she is who she is, not who someone else made her to be. She waits by the river with Ookla, holding the shofar in both hands like it’s a rifle.

Seeing the shofar brings an idea to the forefront of my mind so fast and powerful that I let out a gasp similar to one of Em’s.

“What’s wrong?” Kainda asks.

I ignore her, waving frantically to Kat. “Give it to me.”

“Slow down, kid,” she says, bringing the shofar to me. “You’re going to break your wrist.”

I ignore the taunt and rather rudely snatch the horn from her hands.

“Careful,” she says in a stern voice. “You almost died to get that thing. Don’t break it.”

Remembering what I’m holding in my hands, I slow down. “Right. Sorry.” I step back a few feet, merging with the line of animals still watching us. Ookla stands in the river, head cocked back. He’s watching, but not urging us forward.

“Stand together,” I say to Kainda and Em. Then I motion for Kat to move back, and she does. I can see that she understands what I’m about to do. As do Em and Kainda. They look a little bit excited, but mostly afraid.

I raise the horn to my lips, aim it at Kainda and Em, and blow.

The sound isn’t nearly as loud as when I used the wind to create a sound, and it’s kind of horrible, but the effect on the two women is immediate. Kainda’s body tenses and her head tips skyward, mouth open in a silent scream. Em drops to her knees, fingers clutching the grass. Neither makes a sound, though I can see they are in agony.

Despite their physical discomfort, I have to fight my growing smile so I can keep blowing. The red retreats from their hair from the follicles out, like it’s being erased. When it’s finally gone, and I’m nearly out of breath, I stop blowing the shofar and lower it.

The tension gripping Kainda’s body melts away. She staggers and I rush to catch her. “I have you,” I say, but I nearly don’t. Her legs are rubbery. She slowly starts to recover, like she’s coming out of a stupor. As she clings to my neck, she reaches back for her braid, brings it around and lets out a gentle sob.

Her hair is black. All black. Not a trace of red remains.