Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 23: Pervert Beast

Cecilia’s plan was simple, built on a single advantage. Arzhen and Ruby still had no idea she was breathing.

Well, for now. The only worry was that Ruby, the true Saintess, might receive a convenient divine vision revealing that her predecessor was, inconveniently, not as dead as planned. If that happened, Cecilia would be forced to pivot, and pivot hard.

But so far, the evidence suggested Ruby was blissfully unaware. Her debut prophecy was the proof. "A year of prosperity, bountiful harvests, golden peace"? It was a saccharine, crowd-pleasing fantasy. If Ruby had even an inkling that Cecilia was still a player on the board, that prophecy would have been a carefully laid trap, not this lazy, greedy attempt to win over the nobles with empty promises.

Because Ruby would have known one thing for certain. A living Cecilia would immediately go to the people she had already saved.

Those communities, the ones who owed their survival to her accurate, if inconvenient, warnings, would have also received Ruby’s sunny, generic forecast. And while the temple had officially branded Cecilia a fraud, you couldn’t just erase the memory of a prevented hurricane or a closed mine with a press release. The people who had benefited from her work would be skeptical, anxious. They would need real assurance.

And that lingering doubt, that sliver of credibility she still held, was the true threat. That was why Ruby needed her dead and forgotten.

But forget that for now.

"Mmmm..." A long, pleasurable sigh escaped Cecilia as the rich, savory flavors of the black bean stew and tender beef exploded on her tongue. "So good..."

It was a perfect meal. Served with fluffy white rice, earthy sautéed collard greens, the satisfying crunch of toasted manioc flour, and bright, juicy slices of orange to cut through the richness, it made her tongue dance.

"That good?" Oathran asked tenderly as he watched her.

Cecilia answered with a beatific, smiling nod, her eyes closed in bliss.

He couldn’t resist. Leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper, he teased, "Are you sure orc meat isn’t better?"

"Youw Mawjewsty!" she snapped, whipping her head toward him, her cheeks comically puffed out with food.

"Hehehehehehe," he grinned. He copied her signature laugh perfectly, then leaned in further, nuzzling his cheek against her puffed-up, indignant one. The majestic Dragon Lord, reduced to cheek-nuzzling a woman with a full mouth over a bad joke about orc meat.

"Mmm... gulp... I had never even tasted orc meat before..." Cecilia shook her head helplessly. "Have you?"

"Of course. What do you think I ate every day for the last seventeen years inside that wormhole? That wormhole trapped the occasional monsters. The only edible ones were orc meat and..." Oathran visibly shivered, "...goblin meat..."

"Urp..." Cecilia covered her mouth, barely stopping herself from gagging. She slapped the man’s thigh. "Stop joking about gross things when we’re eating!"

Oathran, receiving the sharp slap on his thigh, suddenly froze. His whole body went rigid, and it communicated one thing and one thing only. The sensation from their sense-sharing bond slammed straight into her head.

Oh great. Why is this man aroused?!

"Saintess... my scent has started to fade on you. Should I replant it deep inside you?" the man’s voice dropped threateningly. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Fantastic. Apparently certain boundaries between chaste teasing and that kind of teasing needed to be established immediately.

She didn’t even know where his buttons were!

"You need to learn to differentiate between my scolding, my teasing, and that kind of teasing," she glared.

So, Oathran glared back, "Then don’t slap a man’s thigh without the intention of laying with him."

"Pervert."

His eyes now amused. "Hmm?"

"Beast."

"Hmmmmm?" he purred.

"Pervert beast."

"Hoh, I see. Am I, now?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for a heartbeat. "Brazen you are, Saintess, to name your bonded mate so."

"Let me eat in peace, pleaseeee..." she whined, finally resorting to pleading, hoping to break the dangerously flirtatious spell he was weaving.

"Ahem. Ahem."

From behind them, a deep, rumbling cough cut through the pink bubble.

Oathran’s eyebrows creased immediately in annoyance. Whoever it was, they had ears. They should have heard his lady’s very clear request. He didn’t even turn, coldly dismissing, "Didn’t you hear her asking to be left to eat in peace?"

Cecilia flinched, her eyes widening as she took in the sight behind him. Oi, I was talking about you! Not the Chief of the entire Werejaguar Tribe and his entire entourage of noble warriors!

The black werejaguar, along with a half-dozen other formidable tribesmen, stood there in various states of awkward stillness.

"Cough. Oathran, don’t... don’t tease them, please," Cecilia hissed, shooting him another glare. This only earned her a heat-filled gaze from Oathran.

Meanwhile, Werejaguar Tribe Chief Hettor, a man built of pure, coiled muscle and sleek, onyx fur all over his shoulder and neck, could only manage an awkward, strangled chuckle. He had jolted awake from his afternoon nap, a hard-earned rest after a morning of grueling work, to a feeling he knew all too well.

A deliberate announcement of arrival from the sky.

A strong being!

His instincts as a chief had screamed at him the moment he felt that sky-splitting presence. He’d immediately gathered his men, but tactically, carefully, selecting only those with the most diplomatic appearances and the sharpest sense of self-preservation.

It was a decision that felt very correct the moment they located the "strong being"... patiently waiting in a bustling treetop restaurant while his human mate enthusiastically devoured a bowl of bean stew.

His less tactful warriors would have snorted. They would have underestimated a man who doted on his woman. They might be dead now.

This man’s scent, and his mate’s scent upon him, was so perfectly, subtly blended it was like a single signature. And his form was almost entirely human, save for the faint, elegant points of his ears. What kind of high-ranking beast was he? The power rolling off him was immense, yet so controlled it was terrifying.

Once again, his silent question was answered not by a grand display of power, but by a name, slipping from the lady’s lips in a hissed whisper.

Oathran.

That Oathran.

Oathran Alicei. The Dragon Lord who had vanished from public life seventeen years ago. Oh, there had been rumors, whispers of a sighting in a distant mountain range or a flash of white hair in a storm. But never like this. Never sitting in a Jaguar Tribe eatery, looking so annoyed at being interrupted. Had he finally returned from his mysterious, seventeen-year quest?

And... with a lady?

"Greetings, Lord Carvalho. We finally meet," the woman said, cutting through his internal panic. "Please, join us for lunch."

Hettor’s golden eyes widened. She knew his name? Oh, by the great Jaguar spirit, had he committed a fatal breach of etiquette by not greeting her first? One glance at the Dragon Lord’s icy expression suggested that yes, it very well could earn him a swift and fiery death.

"Greetings, Lord Alicei and Lady...?" he began, his voice respectful but trailing off into a hesitant silence, his mind racing to place her.

"Cecilia," she supplied smoothly, offering a gentle smile that seemed to slightly thaw the frozen air around her companion. "Cecilia Araceli. We talked via letters before."

Hettor’s breath caught in his lungs, his entire body going still.

Ah.

The ’fake’ Saintess.

The savior of the Jaguar Tribe.