She had traveled halfway around the globe, but her father's desperate pleas continued to haunt her across continents and oceans.

"This is a suicidal plan, Asena. You can't do this... I can't lose you, too."

He had named her Asena. In the tongue of his ancestors, it meant strength. Except she wasn't strong or brave. This was the most dangerous thing she'd attempted. Again, the urge to tuck tail and run home to him overwhelmed her.

A high-pitched meow interrupted her musings.

'It's not too late. Let's turn back,' her beast suggested.

Asena's knees bent of their own accord. She stood on her toes, preparing to leap over the metal sheets forming a makeshift wall. Beyond it, she could hide in the slum.

'But what then?  If we go home, we'll end up in prison. I sure didn't see that coming,' Moggie commented, sounding bored.

They were in a strange land. Their ascendants had roamed the grasslands of the revered cradle of all life for eons. But her family had migrated before her birth. While her beast's doppelgangers were commonplace, they were hunted for their fur. As it is, it was a miracle she'd made it this far in one piece.

Also, hers was a solitary species. Most would not offer her refuge in their territories. She'd spent all her money months ago.

'There has to be another way!' Moggie insisted.

Asena closed her eyes. There wasn't. She'd exhausted all avenues before taking such drastic measures.

The image of Viv's wide grin reminded her why she had to go ahead with this reckless plan. She wouldn't abandon her best friend. Her only friend. Her soul sister.

 The words that spurred her to risk her very life echoed in her head.

'I'll never give up on you, Sena. Never.'

Vic had been by her side when she had transformed. Hers had been the first words Moggie had heard. These very words. 

Dad's proud purr, had then bestowed her serval the stupidest of names. Moggie.

True to her snarky self, Moggie asked, 'I live up my name. Can you say the same?' 

Asena didn't, but after she lost Vic, she swore to find her, which entailed breaking her papa's heart and letting down her pack.

After two years she'd ended up on this infamous beach favored by the scum of the earth--smugglers and pirates. Somehow, she'd completed the hazardous, three-month journey from South Africa to the North-Eastern province of Puntland*. On foot, in the blistering summer, before the great migration and the subsequent monsoon, she'd arrived just before the rains.

Most of her companions had been humans, fleeing persecution, political instability, or poverty. The stench of their fear and desperation still clung to her. They'd dispersed when they reached Bossaso. The few she had talked to were attempting to cross the Gulf of Aden. Yemen recognized them as refugees on a prima facie basis. From there, they'd move on to seek better economic opportunities elsewhere.

Her destination lay in this federal state in Somalia, on the tip of the Horn. Not everyone who ended up here was pursuing safer shores. She'd spotted a few of her kind, but had kept her distance.

Now she was waiting to meet the 'agent'. The Majeerten hyena and Hobyo wolf gangs had united to traffic young shifters to meet Europa's ever-increasing demand for fresh blood.

Asena scratched her neck. Her nails scraped off a layer of dirt, softened by sweat. The bare ground radiated heat. Under the turban, her matted hair pressed against her itching scalp.

The thawb, despite its soft cotton material, suffocated her. She'd wrapped herself in the colorful fabric, and a headscarf, to blend in. The thin sleeveless shirt and divided skirt underneath clung to her. She'd bartered in her sneakers for open sandals within a week on the continent. Currently, she was wearing mismatched rubber slippers. They were too big for her, and she'd tied them to her feet with a string.

She studied the dusty Rashaida platina anklets and bangles on her wrists. The weight of these thick stiff bands chafed her sunburnt, dry skin, and a refugee had tried stealing them. A clawed swipe, more instinct than planned, had deterred any more attempts to rob her.

This wasn't Asena's path; she was tracing Vic's footsteps which had led her here. She hadn't anticipated the abject scarcity of all she'd taken for granted, or mingling with humans. The cruel yet stunning wilderness mesmerized her. Worst, she'd been unprepared for the loneliness.

Asena dug through her gunny bag for the steel bottle. Her parched throat hurt, but she couldn't risk missing the meeting she'd wasted a year organizing. Worse, calling her papa for funds wasn't an option, not anymore.

She kicked the near-empty bag. It only contained a couple of dresses and a pouch hid her last hope in the form of a necklace, belt, and veil band. Each proved she hailed from the local serval tribes. She'd already traded the few utensils and tools she'd carried for a few fruits and strips of roasted meat yesterday night.

"Why did you do this, Vic?" Asena muttered. Nothing she'd discovered made any sense or explained Victoria's motivations.

Once she had the answers she sought, she hoped to resume her boring, privileged life.

While she brooded, the cracked wooden door of the old limestone building parted. A tall male walked out. Sunlight reflected off his shaved head. Dressed in loose pajamas and an embroidered throw over a shoulder, he stopped in front of her.

A whiff of his scent revealed he was a leopard. His dark complexion advertised his beast's melanistic nature.

Asena stood up and pulled out a scrap of paper from her pocket. It had four lines written in Arabic, but she only had half of the message. She removed the torn piece of transparent plastic and gave it to him.

The male matched it to the other part in his possession and moved to the tent with a canvas roof on poles. He sat down and waved at the rickety stools by a plank of wood balanced over cement blocks.

Asena took a seat.

The agent pushed a folder towards her and laid a pen on the side. "This declaration states you are entering this contract of your own free will. The rest outlines what it entails. Do you need a translator?" the agent, who hadn't introduced himself, asked with weary patience.

Asena read a few sentences aloud, pretending to halt and stumble over the words. Few of the reclusive nomads received an education. So far, she avoided any scrutiny of her cover story, but often wondered how Vic had navigated these prying questions. Their fluency in English but not Arabic could cause problems.

'Helps you don't say much,' Moggie snickered.

"Tick the right boxes and sign the document. We haven't dealt with many Bedouin applicants..." the agent added.

"What about servals?" Her heart beat so fast, she feared he'd hear it thumping away.

"One recently." He paused. "Eighteen months ago."

"Did they go ahead with this?" She waved at the paperwork, "And get placed?"

"She did." He beamed with pride, revealing his sharp canines. "With a respectable family, as an equal."

The pertinent question stuck in her throat. "What was her name? Can you—"

The confidentiality agreement prohibits me from sharing her identity but I doubt she gave us her real name. I can tell you what she looked like. Raven hair. Emerald eyes. Skin like silken sand, a shade lighter than yours. I remember the mole by the side of her upper lip. A beautiful creature, eager to start her life with a worthy mate. We'll set up a meeting if she agrees. There aren't many servals in Europa, and knowing her might help you assimilate."

'That's her alright. Making an impression. Getting into trouble,' Moggie grumbled.

Asena had no reason to trust this male. He worked for those who sold shifters to the highest bidders. They'd cultivated a reputation of being the best at placing their 'applicants', and of protecting their interests, but once she signed away her rights, and they whisked her to an unknown land, she was at their mercy.

With an encouraging smile, he continued. "Don't worry, child. Our associate will open a personal account in Europa Central Bank to deposit your share if you're selected. If not, you stay in our hostel and work to earn your expenses, and pay for classes to improve your eligibility. You have six opportunities to snag a mate. If not, we'll arrange for gainful employment as hired help, a maid, or a nanny."

Asena had a job, thank you very much. The one she loved. The one she quit. The one that did not involve cleaning others' homes. The one she could return to if she survived this ordeal. The one she worked hard to excel at, which paid enough for her to hire help to maintain their home. 

"Go through the agreement before committing to it," the agent repeated. 

A youngling set an earthen pitcher and tumblers on the table. He ran off to get bowls of roasted peanuts shells, a local staple, and raisins.

Asena thanked him and poured herself some water. She had her fill, savoring the unique taste of the baked clay mingling with the cool liquid. Alone in the deserted courtyard, she could stop pretending to struggle and study the stack of pages. She munched on the dried grapes, seasoned with rock salt and lime.

"What were you thinking, you idiot!" she muttered under her breath. No one in their right mind would sell themselves off, unless they were desperate to escape their circumstances or saw this as their only means of survival. She wasn't. Nor was Vic. So why would she sign up for such an undertaking?

'Despite the sweet fairytale the leopard told us, this doesn't bode well, for us or Vic,' Moggie wailed.

Unsure of Vic's selections, Asena decided to choose the least evil of the limited alternatives. Her hand trembled as she sealed her fate by agreeing to sell herself off...

***

So as far as beginning so, what do you think of this one?

And of Asena and Moggie?

What do you think of a serval FMC? 

Anything you lot/hate/ expect from about feline female shifters who aren't lionesses or tigresses or panthers or even leopards?

Would you do the same if you were in Asena's shoes? (Sorry, but I wouldn't. Not much of bf, am I?)

Btw this is a serval... cute, isn't it?