Magic Multiverse 11 (Patreon)

After eleven hours in the air, trapped in economy class, Sam was reconsidering the wisdom of his international plan.

It started the day after he had received a call from Hermione, about her extended absence. He found himself with nothing to do, and mentioned to Liam that he would skip the next fight because he wanted to travel.

Liam, impressed by his recent performance, offered a more interesting deal instead.

Apparently, his identity as a British boxer was more valuable in America, particularly the West Coast. Apparently, for them, any London accent that wasn’t Cockney was posh, which contrasted well with a bare-knuckle boxer’s image to command a premium.

Enough to make it worthwhile.

Naturally, Liam made the offer because he had not only had a nice winning streak thanks to his improved skills; but also he focused on making his matches entertaining and fun.

Though, he suspected his good looks helped even more. Tantric worked wondrously to maintain his face even with getting punched regularly.

His looks mattered, as he was supposed to be fighting in a private party filled with up-and-coming actors and directors, as well as the rich bastards that actually funded their projects. Not a crowd he would have wanted to interact … but the weight of thirty-thousand pound check was enough to erase his distaste.

Even a loss would give him ten thousand, enough to pay for his holiday while leaving some extra, but he was determined to win.

He took the offer, as it was a good way to test himself against a vampire … possibly. From what he remembered from Wesley’s ramblings, he knew that Los Angeles had a sufficient vampiric presence.

Admittedly, there was a certain degree of danger, but it was better to face it in a controlled situation where he had the advantage rather than hoping that he would never be ambushed.

He could connect the dots. Up until now, anyone who had been highlighted by the system had been linked to the world of the supernatural, and he suspected that eventually, he would find himself a part of it, one way or another.

Danger was his destiny. He didn’t know if he could fix it.

It was much better to involve himself in a controlled manner rather than finding himself mixed in a really dangerous situation.

The location aspect was trickier. He didn’t want to try his luck in London, the existence of magicals and the council combined made surveillance too complicated. Getting caught by them could prove too dangerous.

Los Angeles was risky, but one he could manage … at least he would still be in the middle of a crowded city.

As long as he stuck to safe places, committed to recon, and carried a lot of holy water with him if he needed to run away, he should be able to manage it.

He wasn’t sure his Los Angeles trip would go as fun as he expected, but he knew one thing.

He would be flying first class on his return trip. He just needed to check the prices.

How expensive could one ticket be? Two thousand?

&&&

As he examined his opponent, lying on the ground with a bloody nose, Sam couldn’t help but be disappointed. His opponent was weak enough that he didn’t even get a point for his victory despite it being an official match.

The crowd still cheered, as he had made sure to keep the fight long and impressive, focusing more on dodging and delivering impressive-looking punches than actually taking them down.

For the laymen, it looked like an exciting fight that came down to the wire. He could maintain it thanks to his improved skills.

Of course, it helped that the underground boxing scene rarely had truly skilled professionals, and those didn’t fight for thirty-thousand. It allowed him to distinguish himself with his advanced skills.

If he tried the same in the professional circuit, it would end badly. Very badly.

As the fight came to an end, he looked at the crowd that watched the show. He wasn’t surprised by their expression, a mix of disgust and excitement. Exactly what he expected from the crowd that was not only rich but American rich.

And here he was, thinking there was nothing more annoying than a posh crowd in London. Americans, at least the kind of crowd that gathered in an expensive mansion in Los Angeles just to watch a fight, were even more unbearable. At least the London crowd merely implied that they were better than everyone else by their snotty silence, easier to ignore.

Americans seemed to love shouting it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t just get away immediately. Liam had been clear that staying after the fight was part of a winner’s duties.

Unfortunately, the women who filled the party didn’t make it as fun as he had hoped. He had been thinking of having some fun, which he assumed to be easy in a mansion full of aspiring actresses.

The plan died. He admired their hustle, but their general attitude was so bland that he found himself bored after a minute or two.

He was afraid that hanging out with Hermione had corrupted him. He was no longer content dealing with airheaded beauties. He wanted beauty and smarts combined. They didn’t have to be geniuses, but he expected them to be capable of taking more than their diets or their amazing next role.

He drifted to the open bar, which was better than the alternative: arson as a distraction so he could run away. “At least I get free drinks,” he muttered to himself as he took a large sip from his beer.

A decision that he regretted immediately.

“Let me guess, the first time you tasted American beer,” a voice called. He looked, only to see a cute brunette with a sharp gaze, fascinatingly sexy in a maroon dress, looking at him with a knowing gaze.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “I should have listened to my friend and stuck to scotch. At least I know never to try tea.” That made her smile. “How did you know?”

She smiled. “Our school librarian was British. I have listened to his rants enough. And, it’s the correct call about the tea. I have seen him try American tea once when his special shipment was delayed. I hadn’t realized the British could curse like that.”

“Did you think we’re all gentle nobles, ready to make noble baronesses out of American beauties?”

“Look at me, do you think I would consent to be anything lower than a duchess?” she said. He liked her delivery, sharp but with an air of irrelevance. She had a sense of humor, which would have made her far more interesting than the rest of the crowd, even if she hadn’t wielded it like a sharp blade.

“My apologies, Your Grace. It’s my grievous error,” he responded.

She smiled. “Good. You’re different. And here I was, afraid that Britain was full of tweed-wearing bores that talked like they are seventy that wouldn’t recognize a joke even if it slapped them, even the ones that are younger.”

“Ah, the posh crowd,” he teased. “Full of apologies that delivered like an insult. You don’t find many of those playing football.”

“Really? You play football? Let me guess, wide receiver?” she said.

“I’m not talking about rugby for cowards. I’m talking about real football,” he replied, then gave her an exaggerated, disgusted shudder. “You would call it soccer on the wrong side of the ocean.”

“You’re too judgmental for a walking tea commercial,” she scoffed dismissively.

He was impressed with her attitude, and her sharp yet beautiful smile. “It’s better than coming second in a corn-queen of the Midwest,” he responded.

Her gasp was right between insulted and amused. “Second place, please. I would have taken the crown, but I would kill myself I ever find myself in Iowa.”

They spent the next hour trading insults; though he had to admit, he ended up the loser of the exchange. Her insults were impressive, and he realized a significant portion of his verbal arsenal had curses that didn’t lend themselves to flirting.

He was paying for spending most of his time playing or watching football. His crowd didn’t have the most delicate language when it came to insults, even the playful ones.

They stopped only after the crowd started to thin. She looked at him sharply. “You owe me dinner,” she said.

“How so?” he asked, teasing.

“I was supposed to be mingling with important people, not entertaining the jester of the night,” she replied.

“Fine. I’ll suffer your presence some more, since I had interrupted your divine ordained mission,” he replied. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Cordelia Chase,” she replied, still haughty. He wondered how she would sound as she came undone under pleasure.

That, he planned to learn after dinner.

Though he didn’t believe it would be easy. While Cordelia gave the usual actress vibe at first glance, the more he talked with her, the more he realized it was just a facade. She maintained it effortlessly, but underneath, he could see that she was both very picky and observant. He felt that the moment he acted entitled or pushed too quickly, she would turn and leave.

Luckily, he had certain advantages.

&&&

Flush with cash, he was happy to follow Cordelia’s recommendation and treat her in an expensive steakhouse, in which Cordelia was entirely too comfortable, but with a touch of longing as well.

It was an interesting combination. He would have expected the reverse from an aspiring actress, but that was just another surprising detail about Cordelia. She was also intelligent, not just socially, but academically; the latter he picked up much easier after spending a lot of time with Hermione.

Those details didn’t fit together neatly, telling him that there must be another story. His best guess was that she came from a conservative family, which cut her off once she decided to be an actress.

He was curious, but he didn’t ask any questions. His curiosity wasn’t worth ruining the night. Such a sensitive question would have ruined the mood.

Instead, he enjoyed her sharp, biting wit, which had turned considerably more entertaining once he goaded her to target the other diners. Trying to keep up with her insults had been a challenge, but watching her eviscerate others had been a true pleasure.

Though, his determination not to ask questions had been challenged when she shared several stories from her high school life. They were pretty straightforward in general, yet at some points, she paused, as if she were sanitizing sensitive details.

It was weird enough that it reminded him of Hermione trying not to talk about her own school life, but he ignored it. She probably had a boyfriend in some of those stories, and wanted to minimize his mentions as their dinner had clearly turned into a date.

He was being paranoid. What were the chances the random actress she stumbled on had mystical ties.

Then, when the dessert arrived, he started to show off. Nothing extreme, but he made sure to let his touch linger on her wrists, occasionally traveling along her forearms. Nothing aggressive, just enough to show interest, Tantric allowing him to maximize the impact.

When they finally reached the end of their dinner, she had been leaning against him in a way she had avoided when they had arrived. “I’m in the mood for dancing,” she whispered.

“Two parties in one night,” he teased.

“God,” she replied with a shudder. “That was not a party, but a boring networking event, filled with desperate people looking for work, and parasites trying to feed off desperation. Dancing there means you’re auditioning for the bed of a seventy-year-old producer. I want to have a real party. Come, I know a club nearby,” she added, grabbing his hand to drag him.

The closer they got, the bossier she became. However, he didn’t find her bossy attitude similar to Hermione’s despite surface similarities. Hermione had a tendency to get commanding while studying, but she also had a deep obsession with authority, and switching her to submissiveness was easy.

He wasn’t naive. If he tried the same on Cordelia, he would get slapped before being left alone.

Luckily, there was more than one way to … satisfy a kitten. He was not a one-trick pony.

Entering the club didn’t take long. He was reasonably handsome, and Cordelia was absolutely magnificent and dressed strikingly, a combination that worked especially well after he shook the hands with bouncer while letting a hundred-dollar bill disappear, which was about sixty pounds.

A bit excessive, but what was the point of earning money if he wasn’t for splurging when the occasion demanded. It was worth not waiting in line for an hour.

The club itself was fun. Loud, expensive, and filled with beautiful people, as the popular club tended to have. However, he didn’t waste his time people-watching.

Cordelia demanded his full attention.

Unsurprisingly, she was an excellent dancer, sharp, confident, and utterly in rhythm, far better than him from a technical perspective. On a real dance floor, trying to keep up with her would have been humiliating.

Luckily, for men, dancing in a club was nowhere near as demanding as trying to waltz or other posh stuff. All he needed was to follow the basic rhythm, look good, and maintain the closeness between them to her desire without making her uncomfortable.

All three, he was capable of.

His fingers danced over her back and sides, never touching anywhere inappropriate, but they didn’t need to. The party and the dinner had already impressed her, and dancing was just the closing touch; the dessert to their adventure.

One could be said that he specialized in desserts.

Cordelia enjoyed his tricks, her maroon dress shuffling whenever she got another taste of his Tantric touch, but unlike Hermione or Holly, the preview of incredible pleasure didn’t make her surrender. She still maintained the distance, occasionally baiting him for more, prepared to shut him down the moment he pushed too much.

She was the one in control.

For now.

He smirked, keeping his hands in place while teasing. He enjoyed the change of pace, staying on the backfoot even as he teased her. She enjoyed the pleasure, but she wasn’t inexperienced like Holly to lose any sense of self the moment it hit, letting herself be dragged with the siren’s call.

However, following her lead didn’t mean he was a coward. After a song, his hand landed on the small of her back, a nice spot to tease her body, stroking her already burning arousal into a roaring inferno.

It was fun to tease her, especially once her alluring confidence started to crumble. She bit her lip with clear arousal, but her eyes showed resentment instead of joy. The fun kind. She leaned forward, biting his neck hard enough that he would have been worried that he was dealing with a vampire if he couldn’t feel her pulse under his fingers, going wild.

“That’s the punishment for being naughty,” she whispered into his ear, but considering her body stayed smashed against his, it was hard to feel admonished. Her body was a masterpiece.

She had mentioned that she had been the head cheerleader, which he had dismissed before as unimportant, but feeling her body press against his, he changed her mind. Her body was toned to perfection, as well as flexible.

Smart, mean, and a body that could go on for days. How sad that he couldn’t drag her back to London. Combined with her domineering streak, she would have been the perfect girl to convince Hermione to try threesomes, which was the first step of convincing her to a lifestyle he had in mind.

A pity indeed.

The idea was certainly tempting, but two things stopped him. First, she was too guarded to follow a random guy to another country and make herself vulnerable; which was just common sense.

Also, as amazing Hermione was, she had magic, and lived in a world where most people had no idea existed. Dragging Cordelia to such a world would be a nasty way to pay her back.

The next song was slower, and she responded by hooking her finger into his collar and pulling him for a searing kiss. He responded just as passionately, and she pulled back soon. Another test, obviously, so he kept himself back from molesting. Her tests weren’t hard. As long as one wasn’t a mindless brute that assumed the girl would go all the way just because she had given the first signal, it was fine.

“You’re patient, good,” she whispered.

“I’m just following your lead, Your Highness,” he teased.

Her eyes widened. “What happened to calling me a duchess?”

“You got promoted, my Queen,” he teased. He wasn’t exactly a royal fanboy like some of his classmates, but knowing how to refer to different nobility was something one inevitably picked up in history classes.

“Good answer,” she laughed, bright and pleased, finally letting her guard down, and they got closer with each song. His thigh slotted between hers when she let. In response, her hands slipped under his shirt occasionally, tracing his muscle lines, which had gotten even more pronounced thanks to his intense training.

When she kissed him again, there was no test. She took what she wanted, biting his lip in warning when he played along, inviting him deeper.

His hands dipped down from her waist, directly to her hips, which she accepted with a moan, her hips rubbing desperately. “Too bad there are laws against indecency,” she whimpered.

“My hotel is not too far away,” he suggested.

“No,” she said, sharp and decisive, and for a moment, he was afraid that he had misread her badly, especially when she turned her back. Luckily, before she started walking, she grabbed his wrist, dragging him along.

Cordelia led him through two corridors and a side door, which opened out to an alley that was cleaner than he expected. He caught her eye. She blushed. “I always make sure to memorize extra exits, in case of an emergency.”

Interesting answer. Suspicious as well, but when she pushed him against the wall hard enough that his bruised shoulder from the fight ached, and knelt in front of him, he found hard to focus on an errant thought.

She looked up, her passion aflame. “Say anything smug, and I’ll leave you with blue balls,” she warned.

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he replied. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” she said.

He understood her hesitation. While she was sexy, it was also clear that she was not someone who did one-night stands or casual sex regularly, if ever.

As for why he was the exception, he didn’t need to question it.

“Don’t dare grab my hair,” she warned before she attacked his erection, another warning he had no intention of testing. Cordelia clearly knew what she liked and what she didn’t.

She didn’t waste any time as she started sucking him, her attitude surprisingly similar to her insults: committed, precise, and too amazing for a weak man to handle. She didn’t linger playfully, nor she did try to take him deep into her throat.

Instead, she maintained the perfect depth, her tongue danced skillfully, her hands tight around his thighs. Occasionally, her nails dug into his thighs, or her teeth deliberately scraped along his length.

She was reminding him that even on her knees, she was the one in control.

Coming from any other, he might have tried to take over, but he wasn’t moronic enough to interrupt the gift he was getting. Whether it was the best one he ever got was debatable, but it was the most skillful one, bar none.

Luckily, there were nice benefits. Her maroon dress was beautiful, but it was not designed to handle her current position, her beautiful breasts popping out.

She looked up, watching his expression, and seemed to be happy with what she found. “Good boy,” she said, licking his length before she returned, even faster.

However, while he didn’t want to interrupt, fate had other plans. A punk with a leather jacket appeared at the end of the alley, and instead of following the most basic tenet of common courtesy, he started walking toward them.

“Cordelia, we have an unwelcome visitor,” he told her, and when she pulled back, he unzipped his pants, ignoring the discomfort.

He stepped in front of her while she fixed her dress and stood up. “Can I help you?” he said, his voice sharp. A smart man would have recognized the threat. But then, a smart man wouldn’t have done what he did and interrupted a couple having fun.

But, when he took another step, getting closer, Sam tensed in a primal fear, in a way he had never felt before.

It took a second to realize why. What he was looking at was no man…

He was looking at a vampire.

A hungry one.