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

Kainda is scanning the jungle nervously, wary for danger, which she should be, considering we are now in the path of an approaching army. “They are what a man becomes when he is too weak to become a hunter. They are broken...and stay that way. They are kept in the depths and fed filth and refuse. Their madness becomes contagious.”


Before I can ask how she knows all this, she adds, “They are a Norse weapon.”

Then it all clicks. The Norse history. The madness. “They’re berserkers.”

Kainda’s forehead crinkles as she turns to me. “You know of them?”

“From human history,” I say. Berserkers were Viking warriors that some believe took a drug that put them in a fury, and reduced or removed their sensitivity to pain. They’d keep fighting even while they bled out. This man certainly fit the description, but I have no recollection of the madness being transmittable. That increases the threat exponentially...especially if you’re trying to not kill them.

“Then you know they are to be feared,” Kainda says.

I say nothing. I can’t condone killing people. Mind or no mind.

“Solomon,” Mira says. She looks a little wind-whipped and startled, but her eyes are serious. “You remember how my husband died?”

“Of course,” I say.

“If you were there. If you had the chance to kill the man who shot Sam, and spare me that pain, would you have?”

I stumble back, unprepared for the question. How can I say no to that? Mira’s husband. To allow his death, if I had the chance to stop it, even if it meant killing a man...could I do that?

Before I can answer, she takes the question further. She points to the dead berserker. “If that man was about to kill me, would you have taken his life? What about Kainda? Could you let him kill—”

A high-pitched wail rings out, drawing my attention up. A man, as wild and feral as the dead berserker, leaps from a nearby tree branch. He’s a second away from careening into Mira. His fingers are flexed. His mouth stands agape. Mira would survive the attack, but not without wounds...which means...

Whipsnap comes free of my belt and I twist the nearest end up, shoving it at the man’s chest...impaling him with the Nephilim-forged blade. It sinks past his sternum, slips through his heart and catches on his spine. The man’s momentum helps me carry him clear of Mira before I fling him down to the grass, dead, beside his kin.

Question answered.

I look at the man’s dead body, motionless, devoid of life. I did that. I killed a man.

Whipsnap falls from my hands, landing in the grass. I follow it, dropping to my knees, which divot the earth along with the tears already dripping from my eyes. I feel two sets of hands on my back, both women offering comfort for what I’ve done. But I can’t accept it. What I did was wrong. It was evil. Corrupt.

My eyes snap open and I see the blurred ground a foot below my bowed head. There is a litmus test for corruption, I realize. At least, there is for hunters here on Antarktos. Through spit and sobs, I make my request.

“What?” Mira asks.

I spit and clear my throat, struggling to control my emotions. “My...hair. My hair! What color is it?”

There’s a pause as both women lean back from me.

“It’s blond,” Mira says. “What other color would it be?”

“Check it all!” I shout.

Hands dig through my hair, searching. As they search, Kainda explains my fear. She no doubt understands it. “Red hair is an outward sign of a hunter’s corruption, but if Solomon were paying attention, he would have noticed that my hair is also without blemish.” She gives my head a shove. “You’re fine.”

When I stand up and wipe my eyes, I’m a little too embarrassed to look at Kainda. What guy wants to cry in front of his girlfriend? And I was full on sobbing. Probably not the first time, of course. Despite my breaking, and hardening over the years, I’m still kind of a leaky faucet.

Kainda takes my chin in her hand and turns it toward her. “You’re heart is still pure, and I would never ask you to risk darkening it again. We are at war, Solomon. Men will die. On both sides. Some by your hands. It cannot be avoided. And if you run from this responsibility, you will put us all in danger.”

Her point finally starts to sink in and I dip my head to nod my agreement. But this revelation is interrupted by a sharp scream. I turn to the sound, and I find another berserker standing at the edge of the forest.

The man repeats the cry.

“What’s he doing?” I ask, snatching Whipsnap up off the ground.

When a second voice shouts a reply deeper in the forest, and another more distant scream follows, I understand and answer my own question. “He’s calling for help.”

The sound of running legs, ragged breathing and frenzied excitement fills the jungle to the west. The berserkers are leading the way for the Nephilim army, clearing the path of anything living that might stand in their way, and making so much noise doing it that they won’t go unnoticed for long, especially if there are hunters not far behind them.

We can’t fight this.

“Run!” I shout. We break for the jungle, heading east, moving as fast as we can with an army at our heels.





14