Planet Talzor Needs Brides: Shalhinari Space Chronicles, #1

By Eva Gordon

Mitzi leads a quiet life as a professional matchmaker. Her cozy life is turned upside down when she is chosen as the matchmaker for an alien species searching for wives. Naturally, she refuses. Unfortunately, she's having a hard time saying no to the dashingly handsome but domineering alien warrior. Although, he makes her heart flutter, it's a good thing he's not her type.

Jax, captain of the Talzor starship, is ordered to hire a shalhinari, a spiritual matchmaker, to find soul mates for six of his men. He locates the best shalhinari on Earth; yet, Mitzi Selig the earthbound woman tries his patience. To his distress, he is drawn to her beauty, questioning his judgment. Worse, his long suppressed empathy gene awakens, a trait not seemly for a warrior.

The magnetic pull between Captain Jax and Mitzi is astronomical. Yet, can a tormented warrior and a woman who refuses to leave Earth find love? A long light-year distance relationship is one thing, but looming danger could curtail any chance for their star-crossed passion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Gordon
• Release date: Oct 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540111500

Eva Gordon

Eva Gordon writes genre bending paranormal/fantasy/steampunk and historical novels with a strong romantic element. She loves to create stories that combine her passion for mythology, steamy romance, and action/suspense. Her imagination takes her from one universe to the next. Thus far, she has several series lined up as well as single titles waiting in line for production. Eva has a BS in Zoology and graduate studies in Biology. When not in her den writing, she can be found teaching animal lore at writing conventions, at work at the raptor rehabilitation center, wolf sanctuaries, or to satisfy her inner Hemingway on some global eco adventure.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mitzi looked over her schedule for the week. Monday resembled the weekend. Again. She sighed and closed her laptop. Only three appointments this week. Well, this sucks. Selig Finding a Soul Mate Match Services, once the top matchmaking business in New York and California, was going the way of the Dodo bird. Extinct. The matchmaking service was one of the most respected and expensive in the market. Mitzi vetted each profile better than the CIA would a new applicant. Nonetheless, competing with all the internet matchmaking and dating services proved futile. Her first appointment wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon, in Beverly Hills. Not an appointment she looked forward to. Her client, a plastic surgeon, demanded she find him a woman of no more than twenty-five years. He preferred models, but absolutely no actresses. She rolled her eyes. Oy.

To save money, rather than leasing an expensive downtown LA office, she converted a room in her Topanga Canyon cottage into her office. She met clients in their homes, or at posh restaurants and coffee bistros. Having an office no longer mattered. Living in the hills, without clients knocking on her door, suited her. Perfect for meditating, yoga and mindful hikes. Actually, she was too mindful. Thinking of the past and future as only a true neurotic could. The present—not so much.

Mitzi glanced at her watch. Her neighbor Connie would arrive any minute for a power walk. Better get ready. She already wore yoga pants and a t-shirt with the words Power Walk printed on it, in case she needed a reminder.

She entered the kitchen, turned the television on to check today’s weather and then started a fresh brew of coffee. She glanced at the morning forecast. Warm with a breeze.

The doorbell rang. Coming.

Hi, hope I’m not too early. Connie took off her sneakers and entered.

No problem, I’m making coffee to go. Want one?

Sure. How much time do we have?

All day. No client meet-ups until Wednesday.

I hear yah. Connie, an unemployed scriptwriter was, as she called it, between gigs. September is a slow season for everything but school.

This should be Mitzi’s peak season. Everyone wanted a soul mate before the holidays. My client this week is the pickiest of the lot.

Let me guess. The plastic surgeon?

Mitzi poured coffee into two travel mugs. Yep. I’m working on two possible matches for Dr. Capasso, but the one that fits his specifications is twenty-seven and the other is only twenty-two. No way would she introduce anyone that young to forty-five-year-old, third marriage Dr. Tummy Tuck. She handed Connie the travel mug.

Thanks. Connie narrowed her eyes. Do you think he might consider you?

Are you kidding me? I’m twenty-eight, three years above his specific age requirement. Besides, he wants a supermodel.

You may not be a model, but you are gorgeous, girl.

I’m perfectly happy being the carefree single matchmaker. That’s what I tell myself.

The problem is your standards are way too high.

Dating a rich, narcissist doctor is not my thing.

We interrupt this program to bring you a special report. The news narrator caught their attention.

Connie’s eyes widened. The space station.

The big news was the International Space Station crew needed to be rescued after the station suffered severe damage from a chunk of debris. Mitzi held her breath. Not sure if she wanted to listen. As of yesterday, their chances of survival remained dismal.

A representative from NASA stood at the podium and announced, The damage has been successfully repaired and the crew is safe and no longer in danger.

Mitzi raised her brow. So, a spaceship managed to make it in time? How did I miss that?

Reporters shouted, How was the ship repaired? Did we launch a rescue team in secret? One reporter raised his mike. You said the damage was beyond repair.

The representative put his hands up. I’m sorry, the how and when is classified.

One reporter insisted. That’s exactly what the Russians and other members of the International Space Station are saying.

The important thing is the crew is safe and returning home. The spokesman walked off. The news switched to a video showing the crew waving and celebrating with vodka. A Russian lifted the bottle, all smiles.

Thank God. Imagine slowly asphyxiating. Because of bad weather and lack of working space vehicles, they would not have been rescued in time. And here I thought I was brave for driving the 405.

Connie narrowed her eyes. Who knows, maybe they died and those are actors, pretending to be the crew.

Why would they hide that? It’s not like plenty of people haven’t died in space already.

Connie shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe they’re worried that knowing the truth would kill all hope of us traveling the stars.

Speak for yourself. I’m perfectly happy here on Planet Earth. Safe from cosmic rays and space monsters. Mitzi, a science fiction nerd, had seen every evil alien space thriller ever made. The thought of risking being torn to pieces by some unknown creature in the vacuum of space was not her thing. That and the ship exploding or burning on re-entry.

Connie grabbed her baseball cap and opened the front door. Not to mention eating freeze dried food and floating while trying to take a dump.

Mitzi laughed. Ooh.

They hiked a trail behind her home that skirted a beautiful part of the canyon.

I’m going to be out of town for a week, said Connie.

Where are you going?

My sister is graduating from nursing school.

Already? That’s fantastic.

After graduation, we’ll spend time in Santa Barbara. You want to come?

Thanks, but I can’t. I need to update all my files. Maybe find another line of work. Like a concierge on a cruise ship.

Connie snorted. That would be a waste of your talents.

What else can I do?

If you weren’t a matchmaker, you could be an FBI profiler.

At the rate the matchmaking business is going, I might consider it. She had earned a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but only to enhance her matchmaking skills, which she had learned from her grandmother, Marian Selig, who Mitzi called Safta, Hebrew for grandmother. Marian was once the renowned matchmaker of the East Coast. Now retired and living in a quiet retirement home in Sedona. A day’s drive from Mitzi’s home in LA.

You are the best matchmaker; I doubt you’ll ever lose your ultra-rich clients.

We’ll see. I should start by expanding my business to Silicon Valley.

You need to take your biz online. Techies don’t talk to people person-to-person.

I know, but I prefer the old-fashioned sit down with real people approach. She imagined herself the matchmaker on Hello Dolly rather than some online programmer, using metadata and algorithms to find the perfect match.

I think that’s your charm.

Captain Jax, from Planet Talzor, observed the blue planet as they orbited it. Earth. A planet similar to his and with fertile women. Not that they were the same species, but with his people’s advanced biotechnology, they’d produce strong children. Unfortunately, in the last century, Talzor women had become sterile. No amount of genetic manipulation helped. The reason for the sudden sterilization remained a mystery. The men had no choice but to marry women from other planets. This was his first mission to find women. He’d been a seasoned warrior and yet his admiral insisted he go, not only to find women for six warriors, but perhaps for himself. Not a chance. He had not been impressed with the data about human women. Though attractive, even the strong ones who served in wars seemed too soft. This would be the first time their kind attempted to mate with humans. If he mated, he might consider a Zartian woman. They were fierce fighters, but their horns didn’t appeal to most Talzorians. He wouldn’t mind having children with sharp horns.

Tal, his AI spoke, Captain, their space station is hailing us.

Proceed.

The screen lit up and Astronaut Joe Phillips smiled. Hello again, Captain.

Jax understood seven of the Earth languages and returned a polite smile. Hello, I gather you are happy with the repairs.

That’s an understatement, sir. The updates on our system are definitely from the future, at least our future.

His AI had added protective shields around the space station to prevent collision with objects and then repaired and improved all support systems.

Good. Put me through to Houston. I will land tonight.

The channel is open. Captain Bradley Jenkins is waiting to speak to you.

Communications were primitive without holo-visuals. Permitted.

An older man appeared. Captain Jax, again we wish to express our gratitude for saving our crew and the station.

It was fortuitous we happened to enter your orbit.

Yes, it was. Now, what do you wish to talk to us about?

I have a proposition for the people of the Earth.

Yes?

I prefer to ask in person.

I’ll send you the coordinates to land in Utah.

I prefer to land in Houston, your space headquarters.

I’m sorry, but my superiors prefer a secluded facility in Utah or Nevada. We don’t want our people to panic.

Jax didn’t want to confront the reptilians who had claimed Area 51 in Nevada decades ago. He’d dealt with reptilians in the past and for the most part, they had a peaceful alliance with Talzor. Nonetheless, he didn’t like their nature. They were allowed to experiment on humans. Send me the coordinates for Utah. My shuttle will be cloaked.

Very well then. Send us your spacecraft dimensions and we’ll clear a runway in Area 54 for you.

His commanding officer also recommended Jax take leisure time on Earth. Away from military campaigns, and hidden from a fierce Kreelnoid bounty hunter, known as Druk, hunting him. I plan to explore living with your kind outside your base, while I complete my mission. His computer had located the most gifted shalhinari, a woman named Mitzi Selig. All he had to do was have them bring her to their base in Utah. He relayed his request to Jenkins.

I’ll have my people arrange it.

Yes, do that. You will be more than pleased with my offer.

Mitzi waited for Dr. Mel Capasso in a private booth inside a popular café. The type of place a famous celebrity would come, disguised in grungy sweats, little makeup and a baseball cap; trying not to look famous-sheik. She, on the other hand, wore a black skirt, white, lacy blouse and light blazer. She narrowed her eyes. There he is.

Dr. Capasso handed the parking attendant the keys to his top-of-the-line sports car and entered. Sorry, I’m late. You know how it goes. He sat and snapped his finger for the waitress.

The waitress arrived and raised a brow. Something to drink?

Beet juice.

Mel’s profile included his rigid health diet, which included buckets of beet juice, which he swore by. No wonder he reeked of it. His face appeared even smoother since the last time she saw him, about three months ago. His smile looked stiff. He must have had recent work done. Last time they met, Mel had rejected the woman she recommended. Something about too many laugh lines.

The waitress glanced at Mitzi. More coffee?

No, thanks. I’m good. On her laptop, she viewed his possible soul mates. Actually, soul mate was not quite the right word for what Mel wanted. She didn’t do well finding trophy wives. He’d probably fire her after today.

So, matchmaker, did you find my match?

Actually, I was thinking out of the box.

Meaning?

I found three beautiful, brilliant women at the top of their careers.

Modeling careers? The waitress brought his beet juice. He drank it in one fell swoop.

Women in their early thirties looking for love and adventure.

Mel shook his head, without looking upset, which might cause him to wrinkle his brow, something he never did. My first wife was my age and I told you, it was a disastrous marriage.

Mitzi didn’t remind him that wife number one left because he had an affair with wife number two. Just take a look.

He leaned in and she pushed the laptop in front of him. He shook his head. I know this surgeon. Not my type.

Why not? Having a career in common can lead to a stable marriage.

Her practice deals with deformed children. Travelling to third world nations riddled with disease is not something I prefer to do.

Mitzi bit her lip. Okay, so matching him with a saint was out of the picture.

He clicked on the next one. This one could be my older sister.

Ugh. Plan A was not working. At one time, a matchmaker could be trusted to have her client’s best interest at heart, but Mr. Narcissist would be better off going to cheaper online services. Let him deal with fake or enhanced photos. All her clients had professional headshots, included in her expensive services. Time for Plan B, or no use finding him a real soul mate. Look, if it’s a super model you really want, I might have to go international.

As long as she speaks English.

This means flight and hotel pay.

No problem. Just make sure they don’t have a big family. He frowned. And good teeth.

So, now I’m a horse trader, expected to look inside a client’s mouth. It will take months to put the word out there. Maybe I should include outer space for all the good it will do.

Perhaps you could try the East Coast again.

Sure, but you can’t expect her to leave everything and move.

Mel looked up from the laptop and gazed at her. Mitzi, how old are you?

How old do you think?

Twenties.

Twenty-eight.

What do you think of us going on a few dates? He winked.

Should she feel flattered a rich plastic surgeon who only dated models asked her out? Or did he see her as an empty canvass, a little nip here and a tuck there and facial work? Frankenstein’s bride. I’m sorry. I never date clients. The last young woman he dated ended up getting Botox and other enhancements, thanks to the doc. No thanks. Not to mention, he could never be her soul mate. Not in a million years. He’d probably put her on a beet juice regimen. Goodbye occasional pizza runs.

Sell the business.

I am the only child who followed in my grandmother’s footsteps. As a teen, she discovered romance novels and, more than finding her perfect romance, she wanted others to find theirs and live happily ever after. After her parents died in a car accident when Mitzi was fifteen, she moved in with her grandmother, sealing her career choice.

You are the best, but look how difficult your job is.

Working with you, I agree. Look at Sandra’s profile. How could he not like the thirty- four-year-old corporate lawyer wearing an expensive power suit?

Very well.

Her phone buzzed with a text message.

"Get rid of Dr. Capasso. It is of national interest that you come with us."

What the funk? Was Connie playing a trick? She knew how annoying Dr. Mel Capasso was. I asked her to call, but not for another hour. Still, the text didn’t come from Connie’s number. Unless, she used a throwaway phone to trick me. She chose not to respond to the weird text.

Mel clicked to another file. This one.

He wasn’t supposed to look at that file. Too young and her father wanted a man from a strong political family. I’ll send you the portfolio I showed you earlier The one with the more age-appropriate adult woman.

He glanced at his watch. I need to leave. He smiled. How about we discuss this over dinner tonight? Bring a swimsuit. The best deals are made in a hot tub.

Sounds like a date. She wanted to shout, what don’t you understand about no dating? His account, however, helped during these dire competitive times. We’ll have to reschedule for next week.

I look forward to it. Coffee on me. He left and paid.

Good. One week would give her enough time to search globally. Her phone buzzed. Another text.

"Ready, Miss Mitzi Selig?"

Mitzi looked around, expecting to see men in uniform. Nope. Just normal customers. If not Connie, someone else was making a prank. National interest, my ass. She texted back. Ha, ha.

Mitzi got up and called Connie. She pressed the button repeatedly. What now? The phone stopped working after her response. Dead, it didn’t even turn on. Weird.

She stepped out of the cafe. Not into the usual crowd of pedestrians, but straight into the arms of two men wearing black suits and dark shades.

Miss Mitzi Selig? asked one of the men who looked obviously like a government spook or the men in black mentioned amongst conspiracy theorists.

Yes. What Hollywood lot did Connie or whoever pranked her send these guys from? No need for theatrics. Did Connie hire you?

The other man muttered into his headphone wire. We got her.

A black SUV pulled up and the first man guided her in, while the other leapt in. The vehicle took off. This better be a joke. Her skin crawled. I’m being kidnapped. Okay, enough. Let me out!

Ma’am, your services are needed.

He must have mistaken her for another Mitzi Selig. Maybe one who worked for the CIA? You obviously have the wrong person.

Selig Finding a Soul Mate Match Services.

Matchmaking? Are you nuts?

We’ll explain everything on the plane.

Plane, what plane? I didn’t pack. Wait. Did Dr. Capasso hire these men to abduct her? He did have a private jet. Or maybe some rich oil sheik wanted to hire her? Oy. Please let this be a reality TV prank.

One of our agents packed clothes for you.

You broke into my home?

He ignored her as the SUV veered toward the freeway.

Mitzi’s pulse raced. Let me out. Now. She crawled on top of the man on her right and banged on the window. Help!

The sting of a needle poking her arm meant she wasn’t in some reality show. Her eyes rolled back and blackness ensued.

Chapter 2

Mitzi woke and sat up, staring at her surroundings. How long had she been out? A small hotel room, the no frills economy class, but with a camera near the door. Ooh, creepy! She pulled the covers to her neck and continued scanning the room. No television or microwave, not even a coffee maker. Her laptop case and purse lay on the desk in the corner. Management needed creative consulting.

She gaped. Someone had dressed her in a long night t-shirt. What the funk? This was beyond a prank. Mitzi climbed off the bed and reached for a blue robe on the nightstand. She walked to the desk, opened her purse and grabbed her phone. Huh? Her phone remained dead. She opened her laptop and switched it on. No connection to send a shout out for help. I’m out of here. She tried to open the door. Locked. Was she in some high-end prison? For what? Matchmaking wasn’t a crime.

Looking directly at the camera, she shouted, What do you want?

Good morning, Mitzi Selig. Did you sleep well? asked a woman’s voice through an intercom.

Dr. Capasso did have the means to shoot her with some drug. Maybe perform plastic surgery on her, or worse, force her to drink a gallon of beet juice. That settled it. He’s going to have to hire another matchmaker. You mean knocked out?

We apologize, but we needed to bring you in without drawing attention from the media. National security.

Had one of her clients been involved in terrorism? Yeah, it’s called abduction.

You are our guest. We left toiletries for you in the bathroom. Please dress and we’ll explain everything after breakfast.

Guest? I don’t think I was officially invited. How long have I been out?

Just the night. Do not be alarmed. Your vitals are normal.

How did she know? An exam while I was out! Fine. She