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

Then there is Em—my Faith, whose full name is Emilee, or so we thought. Adoel also told us her real name—Rachel Graham, which led to the startling revelation that Kat’s true maiden name was also Graham and that the pair were long lost sisters. And since Em is kind of my adopted sister, I suppose Kat is, in a way, my sister and Wright my brother-in-law. The bond between us all is too uncanny to ignore. There is a design in it.

As there is with Mira, my Hope. She and I were short-lived, but very close friends—kindred spirits, I suppose. A photo of the two of us kept me sane during several of my years underground. She doesn’t know it, but I owe her my life. I will do everything I can to save her, not just because of our friendship, but because the angel, who gave names to my hope, focus, faith and passion, made it clear that I would need all four to overcome the war about to be waged. Mira, my Hope, is all that remains to be found.

And it is with Kainda, my Passion, that I will find her.

Kainda’s muscles flex as she leans out over the moss. “Three claws,” she says, inspecting a second footprint. “These aren’t the same creatures.”

She is one of the strongest hunters. As the daughter of Ninnis, the most renowned hunter of all, she had the best and harshest teacher for much of her life. She also had the most pressure to excel, which in hunter culture translates to brutality. But she, like many hunters, has shed some of her Nephilim corruption and even managed to fall in love.

With me.

And I with her.

We’re an unlikely couple—me a former nerd, klutz and bookworm, her a lifelong killer born out of darkness and hate—but we’ve both been broken and reformed. We are new together and we’re better for it. I was not sure how she would feel about risking everything to find Mira, who I admit, I loved in my younger years, but she was the first to volunteer. This revealed not just her deep trust in me, but also a keen understanding of what needs to be done to not just survive the coming war, but also to win it.

“There are no human prints here,” she says, then inspects another patch of moss that would be impossible to avoid while exiting. “None.”

When my head starts to hurt, I realize I’m clenching my teeth, and I try to relax. This is bad news. No human footprints, or boot prints, means that Mira didn’t walk out of this cave.

She was carried out.

And neither of us know who, or what, took her.

“More,” she says, pointing at another, larger print.

“It looks like a horse hoof,” I say.

“What is a horse?” she asks.

I shake my head in confusion. “A domesticated animal. People ride on them.”

“Maybe she rode it out?”

“Maybe,” I say, but neither of us believe it. All signs point to Mira being taken. She might have been on the horse’s back, but I doubt she went willingly. For a moment I think she’s been kidnapped by a herd of random farm animals, but then I recognize another print that’s not been trampled by the others. Four wide toes, each tipped with a long claw, and a thick pad, twice the width of my hand. “This one is a lion.”

She nods. Apparently lions are known to the underworld, probably because they’re renowned killers. Horses, not so much.

We follow the trail up through the cave. I’m kicking myself for not seeing it on the way in, but I wasn’t looking at the floor. I was too busy rushing to the last spot where I saw Mira. Seeing the trail earlier wouldn’t have really changed anything, but it might have saved a minute or two.

When we reach the cave exit and step out into the light of day, we’re greeted by our dinosaur companions. They look up from the river where they’re drinking and then they look back at us. They’re massive creatures, stretching thirty feet from snout to tail tip. Grumpy’s green skin shimmers, like new growth leaves in the sunlight. The maroon stripes over his neck, back and tail seem to absorb the light, creating a pattern of contrasting color and brightness that helps him blend into the jungle. But it’s the tall crest over his eyes that distinguishes him from other dinosaur species—well, that and the fact that most other dinosaurs are now extinct. I say most, because this continent is full of surprises, the most recent of which is whatever took Mira.

The cresties go back to their refreshment when we walk past without speaking to them. The trail is easy to follow. It’s a mash of footprints, a mix of species, following what appears to be a game trail through the jungle. Whoever has Mira is either so confident that they don’t fear being tracked, or they’re completely na?ve to what is going on. I realize there is a third option a moment before Kainda speaks it aloud.

“This feels like a trap.”

She’s right. The trail is too easy to follow. But that’s also the problem. “It’s a really bad trap.”

She frowns. “Obvious.”

“Right.” I look at her. “Not that it changes anything.”

“Trap or not,” she says. “We push forward.”

I stop and take her hand. “Thank you.”