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

The girl who is Hope.

While I’d like to wait patiently by her side and let her heal naturally, that could take time. Days maybe. But what can I—the answer is found on the side of a pouch on my belt. A dark spot. A purple spot. At some point during our battle with the Forsaken, a drop of blood must have found its way to my belt. I’m lucky it didn’t strike my skin. I draw my blade and scrape it against the purple spot. As suspected, the blood is dried and flakes off into my waiting palm. In this form, it has no effect, but rehydrated... I put my hand beneath Mira’s neck and lift. Her mouth slips open and I shake the dehydrated Nephilim blood into her mouth. Most of it misses or sticks to my hand, but a few flakes make it inside. It’s not much, but it should be enough. I hope it’s enough.

Nothing happens. The reaction to Nephilim blood is usually quite sudden and violent. But Mira hasn’t flinched. Maybe it wasn’t enough? Maybe it loses its healing properties when it dries?

I reach out and place my hand on her cheek. “Mira,” I whisper, but I still get no reply. Her skin feels cold. The cavern’s ambient blue light is dim, but my eyes have long since adjusted to low and no-light scenarios. I watch her chest for signs of life, and find nothing.

Panicked, I lean forward and place my ear against her chest. I don’t hear any breathing, but her heart beat is loud and strong.

That’s when I feel a sharp sting on my throat, followed by the words, “Try anything funny and I won’t hesitate.”

Mirabelle Clark...or Whitney rather, is awake. And I’m pretty sure she wants to kill me.





6



I move back slowly, lifting my hands out to the sides in a posture that reveals I am unarmed and am not a threat. “I wasn’t going hurt you.”

She sits up, while keeping the knife at my throat. A trickle of warm liquid reveals that she has already cut me, though not very deeply. Her dark brown eyes lock on to mine with fierce determination. I’ve seen the look in the eyes of many hunters before. She means business. And after the things she’s been through—her mother’s kidnapping and rescue, the global cataclysm, battling with the Nephilim—she has a right to be paranoid.

“Enki is dead,” I tell her, hoping the news will reduce her anxiety. It does, but only a fraction.

“How do you know about that?” she asks.

“I saw it happen,” I say. “You blew him into little bits.”

Her eyes flit back and forth as she remembers. “He dropped me.”

I start to nod, but don’t get very far as the blade cuts a little deeper. She sees me wince and pulls the knife back a little. I could disarm her. It would be simple for me. But that’s not how I want this reunion to go. Of course, nothing about this meeting has gone like I envisioned. She clearly doesn’t recognize me, which is understandable given the beard and one hundred and thirty pounds I’ve put on since we last met. But I suspect her memory has been tampered with. Like with Merrill, it might have been a long time since she had any memory of me.

“You landed in the lake,” I say. “I saved you.”

Her eyes flit again. “It wasn’t you,” she says, sounding accusatory, “It was...”

“Weddell seals.” I step back so that the knife is no longer in striking distance. She keeps the blade pointed at me, but some of the fury has left her eyes. “They’re friends of mine.”

“Man, I hate this place,” she mumbles to herself.

“Your father believes me,” I say.

This catches her attention. Her body goes rigid, like a snake’s before it strikes.

“Your mother, too,” I say. “They’re both safe. At a U.S. forward operating base on the coast. They’re with Kat.”

“Kat?” She’s shaking a little bit now, caught between relief and distrust. “But she and Wright...”

“Survived,” I say. “With me and my friends. Wright...didn’t make it. He saved us. But Kat is alive, as are the other people from your group.”

She flinches and her face becomes angry. “You’re lying. You’re not who you say you are.”

“I haven’t said I’m anyone yet.”

“I saw you change.”

She’s talking about the shifter who captured her, stole her identity and left her for dead.

“That was a shifter,” I tell her. “A Nephilim capable of changing appearances, not to mention stealing and erasing memories. That’s why you can’t remember me.”

“I don’t know you,” she says.

“Your parents said the same thing,” I say. “But they remember now. I was part of the Clark Station 2 mission. You were there too, and my parents, Mark and Beth Vincent.”

“They never had a son,” she says. “And you’re too young to have been—”

“My name is Solomon,” I blurt out. “You liked my name.”

She shakes her head, still confused, but then gently says, “King Solomon.”

“Yes!” I say.

“Solomon—”