Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 16: Alive **

Rustle... rustle-rustle...

Nikolas’s eyes opened the moment he felt the movement from the other side of the bed. His bonded mate, Ruby, was sneaking out of his chamber again. Late at night, after she thought he’d fallen asleep. Off to somewhere.

He knew Ruby didn’t love him. Perhaps she never would. But Ruby was his bonded mate. A beast was a beast. They were territorial, possessive, and selfish to the core. He was no exception.

So, every time he felt her leave, he’d listen. He’d secretly follow her. And every time, he’d find her back in her work room, doing gods know what.

His only real worry was if she was cheating. But she wasn’t sending messages. No carrier pigeons, no secret letters. Nothing like that.

Not long ago, he’d found out she was writing. Obsessively. Scribbling something he couldn’t decipher. Her drawers were locked, and he hadn’t found a way to pick the lock yet. She gave away no clues, her smiles as impenetrable as a vault.

Ruby truly drove him mad.

Was it for Arzhen? Was she pouring her sorrow onto parchment, mourning the man she truly loved? The man who had broken his bond with someone else for her?

But how could he ever let her go? She was his. Accidental or not, she was his. And he chose to believe it was fate.

Accidental bonding was supposed to be rare. Some scholars even claimed it was impossible, arguing it needed both parties’ conscious trust and intention.

But it had happened.

That day, in the middle of the arctic disaster, surrounded by monsters, her heartbeat had synchronized with his. Their mutual, desperate trust to survive had forged the bond.

In that chaos, how could anyone synchronize her heartbeats so perfectly with him? He hadn’t even been aware of his own pulse in the fray. Even if she was in his arms as he carried her to safety, and could hear his heart, for her to match it so exactly... it shouldn’t have been so easy.

But even if she could, Ruby loved someone else. She would never have willingly bonded with him.

Not to mention... everyone believed that if they hadn’t bonded right then, they would have died.

It was a blessing.

After bonding with a human, a beast unlocked a higher level of control over their nature, allowing them to temper their power more masterfully. The better the match, the deeper the trust, the harder they loved, the greater the control they gained.

And thanks to that bond, Nikolas had found the strength to defeat the monsters swarming them.

To emphasize this power boost, just look at Arzhen Vasiliev. He couldn’t call himself Eastiel Edengold’s equal before he’d bonded with that fake saintess. Afterward? He could go toe-to-toe with the Werelion King.

So, it truly was fate.

But although Nikolas had become much, much stronger thanks to his bond with Ruby, he knew in his bones he could become stronger still. If only Ruby... truly loved him.

They could be unstoppable.

Ruby, too, after bonding with him, was now able to use magic. If they loved each other more... they’d be unbeatable.

Not even that Black Wolf King, Arkai Dawnoro, would be able to stand against him.

Silently sighing, the taste of bitter longing on his tongue, Nikolas returned to his empty room.

One day, even Ruby would bend.

And he’d be strong enough to give her the entire world.

Tap... tap... tap... tap...

Click—

Scribble scribble...

Inside the work room, the frantic scratching of her pen finally stilled.

Ruby stopped writing. Only when she was finally, completely sure Nikolas had retreated back to his room did she allow herself to relax.

The pink-haired woman leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. And slowly, a gentle smile bloomed on her lips.

She opened a locked drawer, the key she kept on a chain around her neck, and pulled out a thick file. Inside was a treasure trove. A pile of meticulously prepared documents.

It was Cecilia’s predictions for the coming year’s disasters.

It was impressive, she had to admit. For a fake.

Very... very impressive.

The sheer depth of analysis, the cross-referenced data... the woman had a frighteningly sharp mind.

But she wouldn’t use it. Not officially. This file was just for her private reference. A cheat sheet to the world’s upcoming pains. She wouldn’t publish it, or let Cecilia’s hard work see the light of day.

Yes, perhaps some of these predictions would happen. But no one would blame her if they did. After all, she was just a prophet. If the ’gods’ didn’t whisper these specific tragedies in her ear, what could she have possibly done?

The higher-ups in the temple and the noble beasts never liked prophecies of doom anyway. It made them work harder, promoted unrest among the common folk, and flooded them with critique. Why would she willingly bring that upon herself?

The world was already unpredictable. No one would blame the Saintess for getting a prophecy wrong. Heck, Cecilia was never blamed for her misses. She was only ever praised for her hits, hailed as the one who prevented disasters that might not have even happened!

So why should she work so hard?

Well, if the unwashed masses ever dared to critique her, it would be easy to refute.

Because she had already proven Cecilia was a fake. She just needed to twist the knife a little deeper.

"Why are you all comparing me to a fake who fear-mongered about disaster, and used it to ’prove’ her prophecies?"

"Don’t you realize that all she ever prophesied were bad things? She was secretly hoping for bad things to happen so she could prove herself as the real Saintess. All this time, you have been fooled."

"She’s a fake. A fake who used the clear, blatant sufferings of others for her own profit and glory!"

"Disasters would have happened either way. Disaster is everywhere! She just needed to be right sometimes, and you all would kneel for her and praise her holy."

Not that she’d actually need these defenses, of course.

Saintess Cecilia was dead anyway.

***

"Saintess..."

"Mmm..."

The word wrapped around her, sinking straight into her bones.

Hot.

Stuffy...

His lips on hers were a slow, deepening press that made her entire body hum.

"Saintess..."

Cecilia didn’t know... that it would be this—

"Mm—mmmh...!"

Her breath stuttered—again. The fourth time her body had folded inward on itself, releasing from nothing more than his circling caress, his teasing graze, his fingers over her clitoris.

He kissed her, brushed over her sensitive peaks with the featherlight roll of his tongue, tracing every edge of her except the center she was trembling for.

"Inside... please... please, Oathran... just... take me..."

She felt tingling gathering low in her belly, her pussy wet from how intensely she reacted to just his touch. Everything about her felt open, too open, relaxed and willing for him to simply... slip inside.

Oathran didn’t answer. He only kissed her again, slower, deeper.

"Why...? I asked you to..."

"You asked me to cover you in my scent," he whispered, grazing her neck with a teethed caress and a lingering licked heat. "This is enough to cover you... in my scent... Saintess Cecilia..."

Cecilia’s gaze drifted lower, to the strained fabric of his pants. The tension there was shocking. How tightly the fabric held, how mighty the outline was beneath it. Far too big. Far from normal.

"Why...? Why wouldn’t you...?"

Oathran grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You dare ask me to fuck you just to erase someone else’s trace from you? Bold."

"I’m not a cheap man," he murmured, voice roughened with a low, dangerous warmth. "That is something any man on the street can do."

Cecilia frowned, "Who would want to—"

"Any man would want you, Cecilia. Any... sane man. Any..." his eyes clouded with hunger, his focus fraying as he leaned in to brush her lips with a gentle kiss. "Every sane man out there..."

"Then what are you...?" she whispered, dizzy.

"I am insane..."

Insane enough to refuse this, refuse her offer, when he clearly wanted her so much it blurred his composure.

"Only do that... with the man you truly... love..." he murmured. "But not any man. And not someone insane... like me..."

"But... But I want you to... mark me deeper than that man ever did..." Cecilia’s tears fell, and his restraints almost broke to pieces.

Mark her... deeper...?

Fine.

Oathran slipped two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his saliva, before bringing them down. Not to her clit, but lower... to her entrance...

His scent.

His mark.

Planting it deep inside of her.

"Close your eyes, Saintess Cecilia."

Schlick—plunge—

"Aaaahhh!"