The Leopard of Saba

Chapter One (partial)

Mature content warning!

Author's note: 'The Leopard of Saba' is a prequel of sorts to my sexy bi space opera 'Moro's Price'. 'Leopard' is currently unfinished, but I am working on uploading new chapters to a different site. If you like my work and want to read more (and you're legally of age to do so because I write *hot* queer and het stuff sometimes!), please check out my site on Ream.ink at:

https://reamstories.com/creator-hub/page/lfr7ennrzk/public

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Mateo's life changed on his fifteenth birthday, in a Taverna DaSilva storage room. Far from the chaos of his extended family's party, he'd hidden behind a stack of crates to get away from a pretty female guest's fumbling gropes. He calmed his breath in the dark, spice-scented peace; no longer puzzling over why he'd run away, but how to break the news to Papa DaSilva.

The old magnetic door gave the complaining whine it always made just before opening. Expecting the girl, Mateo flattened himself on the wooden floor. The room blazed with light from a panel in the ceiling. Gruff voices announced the arrival of Papa DaSilva and another man.

"Be reasonable, Vidan," began the stranger.

As soon as the door shut, Papa's voice rose. "Heral, pimp your son as much as you'd like, as long as he'll stand it. But no child of my family will go to school on such evil credit. And how dare you bring a fighting-whore into my house?"

The other man said, "He asked to come with me, Vidan. We know the restaurant is in trouble more months than it's not. Some years you can barely pay your suppliers. How will you pay for Mateo's school? Would you sign a work bond for the rest of your children, until Mateo frees them? He's a bright boy. I've seen his holo recordings. They're good. If he gets hired by the bigger entertainment channels, he might pay back our investment in what, five years? Your Lena talked to us last night. Jason is making more than enough money in the fights. We're almost free ourselves, fifty years early! My grandchildren will be born free."

"Lena and I are free. None of my children are slaves," said Papa with brittle dignity.

"Keep them so," Heral urged. "Jason suggested it first. He is Mateo's best chance."

Mateo finally placed Heral. A distant kinsman, some third or fourth cousin impugned in scandalized whispers at family gatherings. When Heral's grandfather lost a bad business gamble, he and his children were sold into a Red-Band bond to pay it. That would have meant a century or two of grinding debt. But Heral had a son who was a god of the arena, whose earnings in a single fight were sometimes more than Papa's restaurant made in several years. Heral's family had new clothes and the newest-model hover cars. They did not carry themselves like the cringing, dispirited bondslaves Mateo had recorded in the east Cedar-Saba produce markets.

Mateo heard new footsteps in the corridor, pausing in the doorway. "Father?" asked a rich baritone voice, "Did you ask him?"

"I did. The stubborn old fool said no." Heral sounded more insulted than Papa.

"Jason Kee-DaSilva, I am honored by your offer," Papa began.

"But you cannot take a whore's credits?" Jason asked. "Would it help if I said I chose this life? I like money. I like helping my family. I like fame. I love sex. As long as the other gladiators are willing to fight me, I'm willing to take their credits—or their bodies."

"And to give up your own when you lose?" asked Papa. "With crowds watching?"

Laughter purred in the fighter's voice. "Every credit they don't take goes to my family. And I like to be watched."

Mateo's mouth went dry and his heart hammered so loudly that everyone must surely hear it.

Papa coughed, then said, "Mother Mara protect you, boy. We are made as God wishes it, and ours not to reason why. That you uplift your family is a noble thing. How you do it is your own business. But I will not have my Mateo knowing he owes his place at Cedar University to you, or to the men who claim you in the arena."

"So?" asked Jason. "The boy doesn't need to know. I can arrange an anonymous trust fund. He won't live like an aristo." Mateo heard an edge to the voice, hinting Jason might not like his credits going to Heral's luxuries, after all. "But he'll have enough for school, housing, and the like. If he keeps his lower school grades up, I might even push some university board members for scholarships. In three years, when Mateo is ready for Cedar University, his place will be assured."

In an even more brittle voice, Papa asked, "How do you know Cedar officials?"

Jason's laugh turned cold and careless. "I'm not just a whore in the arena, Tio Vidan."

There was more discussion, but Mateo heard the grudging acceptance in Papa's voice. While they finalized the trust fund and a shorter-term loan for the Taverna, Mateo eased up slowly to look through the gap between two crates.

I need my recoding equipment, Mateo thought first, fingers itching for the rented holo controls secured in his school locker. Class credit my ass. If I had images of him I'd never turn them in.

His notorious distant cousin was the most gorgeous man Mateo had ever seen.

Jason Kee-DaSilva had no scars, a sure sign of enough money to heal all but the worst arena injuries. Easily six-foot-four, his muscular body was glorious even in trousers, shirt, and a long open cloth coat in discreet dark brown. His wide shoulders and deep chest filled the coat, tapering to a waist almost as narrow as Mateo's. Jason's exposed wrists, throat, and face were dark gold, his bones sculpting the amber flesh from within. Mateo saw wide cheekbones, slanted brown eyes, dark lashes, and a strong, full-lipped mouth currently crooked in either impatience or self-deprecating irony. When Jason leaned forward to sign his name on the contract, Mateo noted the man's supple grace. Jason's short, plush-soft hair was dyed blond and black in a leopard-spot pattern.

Another hushed family rumor: Jason Kee-DaSilva's shoulders, spine, chest, and buttocks were tattooed with leopard spots, from the nickname an arena promoter bestowed early in Jason's career.

The Leopard gets paid to have rough sex in public, thought Mateo. He likes it.

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Want to see more? Don't worry, the rest of this story takes place well after Mateo turns 18.