Fool's Rush

By Chris Quinton

Father Esteve hires Xavi to trace the true owners of the gold found in the crypt of San Pedro-by-the-Wall, but it’s an old and tangled web. Someone has an undisclosed agenda, and a rising tide of anti-vampire reaction sweeps through Barcelona. It’s focused on Xavi and Andreas, which causes additional problems with the vampires of Renaissance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Quinton
• Release date: Jan 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005936341

Chris Quinton

Chris Quinton  Chris started creating stories not long after she mastered joined-up writing, somewhat to the bemusement of her parents and her English teachers. But she received plenty of encouragement. Her dad gave her an already old Everest typewriter when she was ten, and it was probably the best gift she'd ever received – until the inventions of the home-computer and the worldwide web. Chris's reading and writing interests range from historical, mystery, and paranormal, to science-fiction and fantasy, writing mostly in the male/male genre. She also writes the occasional male/female novel in the name of Chris Power. She refuses to be pigeon-holed and intends to uphold the long and honourable tradition of the Eccentric Brit to the best of her ability. In her spare time [hah!] she reads, or listens to audio books while quilting or knitting. Over the years she has been a stable lad [briefly] in a local racing stable and stud, a part-time and unpaid amateur archaeologist, a civilian clerk at her local police station and a 15th century re-enactor. She lives in a small and ancient city not far from Stonehenge in the south-west of the United Kingdom, and shares her usually chaotic home with an extended family, three dogs, a Frilled Dragon [lizard], sundry goldfish and tropicals

Book preview

FOOL’S RUSH

#3 of the Fool’s Odyssey Trilogy

Copyright © 2021 by Chris Quinton

First Publication: 2013

Second Publication: 2021

Cover Photo: Pixabay

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the Author, Chris Quinton.

Piracy is Theft

The royalties from the sale of my books helps to support my family and pay essential bills. If you like this story, please spread the word and tell others about it, but please don’t share it.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Bibliography

Dedication

To the Usual Suspects - thank you for your support, nags, kicks in the arse,

copious amounts of tea, beer, wine, and encouragement.

You make writing even more of a pleasure.

Chapter One

Dateline: September 2042

144 Las Bolas Street and Las Ramblas, Barcelona;

Renaissance, Begues, and San Pedro-by-the-Wall, Barcelona

The balcony was secluded, not that Xavi gave a damn if half of Barcelona watched him work on his all-over tan. His body was good and he knew it. But exhibitionism wasn’t entirely why he was stretched out oiled and naked in the sun. Maintaining the bronze that emphasized the sleekness of his muscles was no longer as simple as it had been, especially since he refused to go for the easy and painless option of a fake tan.

Fake was exactly that; he preferred the real thing. Exposure needed to be finely judged, though. Death by sunlight wouldn’t be immediate, unlike the movie and TV stereotype. With care, Xavi could endure the rays. Clothing, of course, offered protection. So did sunblock, which was why he was lying there wearing neither. Xavi would be relatively safe as long as he remained conscious. Leaving it too long, until he passed out, would guarantee there’d be no second chance.

He wasn’t a masochist, but sheer vanity insisted he accept the risk of death and the suffering necessary for the genuine article. So Xavi gritted his teeth, lay in the unshaded heat of noon and endured the pain of the blistering. The burn would heal in a matter of moments once he was in the shade of the tree again, and he would be left with the perfect suntan. Without the risk of skin cancer, or so Doctor Cortes assured him.

So far, Xavi had failed to persuade Andreas to do the same. That was a shame because it would change the man’s sallow ivory pallor to an olive-bronze, which would look very good on him. Just because he was a vampire, didn’t mean he had to go with the stereotypical pallor.

So he gritted his teeth against the agony, waited until his vision started to fade and the blisters began to crisp. By then he’d had enough of the torture in any case, and he crawled from the spread towel to the one waiting in the tree-shadow. He collapsed, groaning with relief. With no direct sunlight to fuel it, the burning of his over-sensitive skin faded quickly. So did the pain. Xavi yawned and stretched, then rolled onto his back and relaxed into a semi-drowse. Life was good. Boring but good.

The nights weren’t boring, though. They were better than good. He smirked and lazily stroked down his lotion-slick body to cup his genitals. Andreas.

The nights and Barcelona belonged to them, whether they were joined flesh in flesh on the bed or walking Las Ramblas shoulder to shoulder. Andreas’s touch brought his body alive with the same ease and intensity as a spark touching gasoline-soaked kindling. To meet Andreas’s topaz eyes, whether it be across a crowded street or the intimacy of their home, was to strike that sudden fire in Xavi’s blood, but no amount of pleading or seduction on Xavi’s part would bring him the gratification he hungered for.

The complex relationship Xavi had precipitated knowingly and of his own free will meant sex was always on Andreas’s terms, Andreas’s wishes, and Xavi relished his lover’s possessive dominance. It was one hell of a turn-on, having all that lethal power focused solely on him, and it was something he sought to trigger with varying degrees of subtlety and blatancy, depending on his mood. With Andreas, he was safe and secure.

Xavi chuckled quietly at the thought, his fingers slowly kneading his rapidly hardening cock. Secure, yes. He was Andreas’s and the padlocked gold around his throat was mute evidence of that. Nor would he have it any other way. His decision, his choice, especially knowing that Andreas was as irrevocably chained to him.

Safe, though. That might be a different matter. As safe as he wanted to be, and danger was an interesting spice ...

His breath shortening a little, Xavi began to pump his hips, thrusting his cock into his fist. Andreas was a study in discipline. How would it be to see that rigidly-maintained control broken? To be compelled, no matter how Xavi, fought, because his own vampire-enhanced strength and speed could not equal Andreas’s. Xavi did not like pain, but to be so comprehensively overpowered, taken – hunger broke through him and he gasped, whispering Andreas’s name.

Orgasm was close and he didn’t want to make the pleasure last. He wanted it fast and hard, wanted it now, and tightened his grip to the edge of discomfort. He set a harsh rhythm, knowing it would leave him sore if only for a short while, but he didn’t care. With inhumanly dense and sharp nails, he pinched above and below his nipple, hissing at the sting of it and imagining Andreas’s teeth biting, breaking the skin to draw blood – completion came in a convulsive orgasm he milked with clenching fingers until he was drained.

Panting, Xavi relaxed on the rumpled towel in a boneless sprawl, sweat and semen drying on his belly. The scent of it was heavy on the afternoon air, a stimulant in its own right. With an effort, Xavi trailed his fingers through the sticky mess, then slowly brought his hand to his mouth and licked the taste from his skin.

God, yes. He was going to do something about ‘safe’. Where were the boundaries? How far would he be allowed to go? His sigh was an almost soundless purr of satisfaction. He owed it to himself to find out, didn’t he?

There was no rush. Andreas would have finished his shift with Detective Rico Aquilar, one of the squad of Immunes who made up part of Barcelona’s Police Department, and now be on his way to the scheduled meeting with the leaders of the small vampire community at Begues. It was due to start at dusk and wouldn’t be over until at least eleven o’clock. Give Andreas enough time to drive home, read the note and follow him, and it would be closer to midnight. He chuckled quietly and used the nearest corner of the towel to wipe himself down. Then he rolled onto his belly, pillowed his head on his arms and went to sleep.

At some point he’d turned over while he slept because Xavi awoke with moonlight in his eyes and the scented weight of the night draped over him. For a short while, he lay in a semi-drowse until he remembered his plans. Judging by the position of the moon, it was an hour or so to midnight. Andreas would be leaving his meeting round about now. So he should make a move.

A shower and a shave later, Xavi picked his clothes with care: deep burgundy silk shirt, cream linen jacket and slacks, cream loafers, and nothing else save the very expensive cologne and the gold around his throat. Then he combed his dark hair into his preferred style of tousled elegance. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he phoned for a cab and sat down to write the note. He didn’t want to be specific; at the same time he didn’t want Andreas to get the wrong impression. Genuine anger would defeat the object of the game.

I felt like a night on the town. Care to join me? I’ll be somewhere on Las Ramblas if you think you can track me down before I get bored.

That should do it. Invitation and challenge in one.

Xavi grinned and when the cab turned up, he left the house with a jaunty swagger.

Las Ramblas at night was Xavi’s place of choice. It always had been for as long as he could remember and tonight was no exception. Even without the added spice of knowing Andreas would soon be hunting him, the sights, sounds and scents of the long strip of city life that defined Barcelona, as far as he was concerned, were an invigorating benison. He was alive. He was Vampire. He was Andreas’s chosen Companion. He was also the deadliest predator prowling the streets – or would be, until Andreas joined him.

A hint of unease stirred in his gut. Memories of the overwhelming scent of human blood and the madness it had brought reminded him of the need to be careful. God, yes, he would be careful. Never again would he risk that ravening insanity, because rogues were not tolerated by the vampire communities across the planet. They were culled. And here in Barcelona, Warden Detective Andreas Rousakis would be the one who did the culling. It was a sobering jolt of reality. The spice of danger was one thing; courting disaster and death was a whole new ballgame and no way would he go there.

For more than an hour Xavi drifted through the crowds, visiting some of his old haunts, catching up with the back street news, touching base with friends. The rumor mill had been working overtime during the last week or so while he’d been keeping his head down, he discovered. Most of them had heard he was involved with a cop, and speculation was rife that Xavi had been an undercover plant, working with the late Sophia Matas’ politician husband to trap the rotten apples in both the judiciary and the police. This meant that, thanks to the tabloids, they also knew his cop was a vampire.

Following as it did on the heels of the Matas murder and Andreas’s role in the investigation, the Treasure of San Pedro was too good a story for the press to let go, especially given the involvement of an as yet unidentified Vampire Hero. That hit a nerve, but Xavi refused to let it affect his plans. There wasn’t a newspaper or magazine in Cataluña that didn’t feature it in one way or another, let alone in Barcelona. Vampires were Big News. Vampires sold. He could deal.

Even without knowing he was also a vampire, all of that should have put Xavi well outside his friends’ comfort zone, but it hadn’t. Instead, he had gained a kind of awestruck notoriety, which meant he was treated with a wild-eyed wariness that was both amusing and irritating.

After a while, though, exasperation won out over amusement, and he took himself off to the Cicero. It was an upmarket wine bar in the basement of the Gaudi-designed apartment block, a place where either sex could connect with the gender of their choice. Live music, a fair-sized area for dancing, reasonable wine and average food made it a popular choice among the trendy local set and tourists alike. It made the perfect hunting ground as far as Xavi was concerned.

He had given some thought to how he was going to set up the scenario, just hadn’t managed to cast it yet. He’d played with the idea of picking up one of the more attractive women frequenting the place, keeping the flirtation going until Andreas turned up and caught him. Then a fortuitous survival instinct told him that involving an innocent third party would be a huge mistake. Andreas’s reaction would not be good. To put it mildly.

Scratch that and think again. Xavi sighed, suddenly realizing this whole hide-and-seek game had been a bad idea from the start. He didn’t need to test the boundaries, he didn’t need to pick up anyone. He knew he could have any man or woman in the fucking bar if he wanted, and he simply didn’t want. So why go along with the charade? The one person he wanted – needed – wasn’t there. Yet.

He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered another whiskey, taking it to the dark corner at the far end of the bar from where he’d have a good view of the door.

And there was Andreas, strolling in with the unmistakable predator-grace that had people automatically moving out of his way. The man stood out in the crowd; his pallor, dark combed-back hair, and one-size-too-large formal suit