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Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

“It looked.” He moved toward her so fast he didn’t seem to cross the intervening space. So damn quick with blood in him—how long did he go, anyway, without feeding? How long could he? And how would the hunger of a single taste after deprivation feel? She knew. She was all need, a single exposed nerve. Her clothes rasped her skin. Her skirt’s hem was tight as a knife. He was close, though not close like he’d been when they danced, not close enough she could touch him without his letting her. “It looked,” he said, softer now, “like you were out of control.”

“You responded. We kissed, dammit—”

“Don’t pretend that’s all. I tasted you. I could break that building in half if I wanted. I could fly.” She’d never heard such disgust in his voice before.

“I wanted it. So did you.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I thought you wanted to fix—”

“To fix myself? To fix what’s fucked-up about me?”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, too fast.

“I see the way you look at me, like I messed up somewhere. You’re always in control, you never put a foot wrong. You never jump a ship before the signal comes. You never take a risk that’s not worth it. Unlike me. To all the hells with that. I know how the change works. I know you had to want to be what you are.”

“I wanted not to die,” he said. “Okay? I wanted to survive. And since then I’ve maintained. I’ve managed. All this”—he waved in a big circle—“these booths and blood and just taking from one another all the damn time. So when some kid loses control and gets a stake through the heart, it’s a piece of gossip to you people. It’s my life.”

“Is that what this is about? Brad?”

“You have a problem. You admitted you have a problem.”

“I’ve been working on it for a year.”

“Great. A year.”

“Fuck you, a year’s a long time for someone who can die. And I’m tangled, but I know enough to tell the difference between something I need and someone I want. I was wrong, fine. I’m not fucking perfect. But you’re the one who keeps pulling back.”

He dropped his hands. “You want me to be the monster here, fine. I can do that. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

And he walked away.

The someone in fishnets by the trash heap had curled against the former bouncee. He passed her a cigarette. The someone took a drag and passed it back.

Cat swore in a growling grinding language not meant for human throats. Then she turned and ran.

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