First Contact: Alien Warrior, #2

By Ashley West

Lorraine Franklin has always been something of an eccentric person. She works in an antique store and was raised by a man who believed in everything from vampires to alien wizards, so she has a healthy sense of wonder about the world and enjoys being who she is, even if it means that she's lonely and doesn't have anyone to share her life with. 

But when a group of strangers start hanging out around her store, asking about an item that she's never heard of before, and doesn't even think she has, she's going to realize that some of her father's fantasy stories were indeed very real. The strangers are warrior guards from another planet, and the item they're looking for belonged to their late king, given to the previous owner of the shop, her father, for safekeeping. The only problem is, Lorraine has no idea where the item ended up, and her father's dead. 

When she finds out that the item could literally mean life or death for the late king's followers, under the rule of a new, tyrannical king, she'll throw herself headlong into helping, and maybe find love along the way. 

This A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Paranormal Romance has action, adventure and romance around every turn. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monster Media LLC
• Release date: Jan 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386275077

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First Contact

Ashley West

Prologue One: Lorraine and the Shop of Wonder

In the middle of a medium sized town in the South, there sat an antique shop. This wasn’t a novel thing, really. Antique shops were becoming more and more prevalent in the city as time went on, people loving to find things that added just the right amount of old timey elegance to their otherwise modern decor. Or there were collectors out there, looking for the right piece to add to their collection. Or others still who wanted to sell things that had been left to them, little pieces of history that would be passed on to someone else, adding a new layer of story to whatever it was.

Ten year old Lorraine Franklin found it all very fascinating. It was her father’s shop, a large, two roomed building right in the middle of the strip, sandwiched between, ironically enough, a sandwich shop and a dry cleaner. There was an awning over the window outside that just said ANTIQUES in faded caps, and painted on the window was their last name: Franklin’s, done in swooshing cursive that Lorraine liked to follow with her finger when she was in charge of changing out the window display.

Unlike either of the businesses on the sides of them, they had an old fashioned sign on their door that her dad flipped from Open to Closed, depending on the store’s state. Sometimes, when Lorraine was helping out on the weekends, he would let her stand on tip toes to do the honors, and she felt proud as she watched the sign settle, announcing that they were open for business or closed for the night.

Her friends at school didn’t understand how she could spend her whole weekend locked away in some dusty old shop instead of going out skating or to the mall with them, but they just didn’t get it. And Lorraine wasn’t going to try to explain it to them.

She’d learned from a young age that some people just weren’t able to see the magic of a place like her dad’s shop, and it wasn’t right to rub their noses in that.

To them, it was just a dusty shop, filled with old people things that no one cared about. For her, it was like a castle of wonder with something new to discover every day.

The front room was all the big things and the jewelry counter, which doubled as the checkout counter. Her dad had placed a tall stool behind it, so Lorraine could sit up high and watch the shop and reach the cash register when she was helping someone with a purchase.

When she sat up there, she could see all the tables and desks and ornately curved chairs that lined the walls and stacked on top of each other. There were dressers and chests and wooden boxes, lamps and foot stools and deconstructed bedframes, huge china cabinets pressed against the walls and a long rack of clothing right in the back.

The jewelry case held everything from watches to diamond rings, and sometimes Lorraine liked to sit on the floor behind the case and watch everything glitter.

All of the more fragile things were in the back room. Shelves reached nearly to the ceiling and held beautiful cut crystal glassware, old silver tea sets, china of all shapes and sizes, porcelain figures, pots and pans, candle sticks, and just about anything else that could be made out of glass or china.

Her dad dusted and polished everything twice a week, making sure that the silver shone and the glass caught the light that streamed in from the windows.

Honestly, it was Lorraine’s favorite place in the world. It was like being transported to another time and place, and her dad’s stories only helped make that more true.

This belonged to a vampire, you know, he said, sitting cross legged on the floor as he polished a carved wooden chest.

Lorraine giggled, sitting on her stool and swinging her legs as she worked on eating her lunch, a massive ham and cheese sandwich from next door. Did not, she said back, reaching for her juice.

It did, her dad insisted, wiping the cloth over the top of the box.

What’d he use it for, then? she wanted to know.

Her dad grinned. He slept in it. See, most vampires sleep in coffins, but this was a really short vampire, and he didn’t need that much space. And, he said, holding up a finger. It had the added benefit of letting him sit up in bed without banging his head on the lid. That’s considered a major perk in the vampire world.

If the shop was her favorite place in the world, then her dad was her favorite person in the world. David Franklin always had a story to tell and a smile on his face. Despite how much and how hard he worked, he always made time for her, and the weekend was their time, even if it was spent working.

Lorraine’s mother Felicity had died shortly after the girl was born due to complications and being sickly already, and instead of wallowing in his sadness, David had risen to the challenge of raising his daughter on his own.

He had help from his twin sister, Katherine, who’d moved in with them for a time to help make sure they had food on the table and someone was always there to be with baby Lorraine.

Lorraine and her aunt were still close now that it was just her and her dad again, and while she often wondered what having a mom would be like, she wasn’t hurting for family. Her dad made sure she was fed and happy, she spent a couple afternoons a week with her aunt, she had time in the shop with her dad, and she was more than content with that.

Whenever her friends talked about the boys they’d seen at the skating rink or the new things their mothers had gotten them at the mall, there was a little pang of wanting; but for the most part, she was happy with what she had. She proudly showed off the little silver antique bracelet her dad had plucked right out of the case and given to her for her tenth birthday with just as much pride as her friend Stephanie showed off her diamond earrings that her dad supposedly brought her back from Paris.

The earrings were pretty enough, but they didn’t mean anything. They were just something shiny and sparkly that Stephanie could show off. When Lorraine had asked her But why diamond earrings? hoping for some kind of story about how Stephanie loved earrings and diamond was her mother’s birthstone or something, she’d just gotten a blank look. Because they’re pretty and expensive. Stephanie had replied, and Lorraine had just smiled.

Meanwhile the bracelet she wore just about every day had been donated to the shop by a little old woman who’d been cleaning out her attic and stumbled upon it in an old jewelry box. She’d given it to her daughter when she was younger, but her daughter had outgrown it and it had gone into the attic.

Lorraine remembered when the woman, Mrs. Donovan, had come in, a cardboard box in her pale hands with their papery skin. She’d laid things out on the counter for them, earrings, a set of pearls, a silver platter, a gravy boat, two delicate tea cups, and finally the bracelet.

Her dad had asked how much she wanted for it all, but Mrs. Donovan had just shaken her head. Nothing, Mr. Franklin, nothing, she’d said. I don’t even remember what I paid for these things, and I don’t need the money. I’d rather they go to someone who is going to appreciate them. And then, when Lorraine had asked, she’d told the story of each thing from the box, smiling wistfully as she recounted years gone by.

Lorraine and her father had both listened raptly, and then accepted the items.

She’d been so happy to receive the bracelet for her birthday, just like she loved all the little antique things her dad gave her from the shop. She dreamed of the day when she had her own house and could fill it with mismatched end tables and mahogany china cabinets filled with heavy crystal goblets.

Wipe that counter for me, would you, Lo? David called from the back room. It’s almost two.

Two in the afternoon on a Sunday meant the little old lady contingent. They were fresh from church and Sunday lunch, and liked to stop by the shop to see if there was anything new in and to flirt with Lorraine’s dad.

She found the whole thing amusing, and she liked when the ladies would offer her butterscotches and peppermints from their purses. Old lady candies were the best.

So she hopped off her stool and hunted down a rag to wipe fingerprints and smudges from the smooth, shiny surface of the counter, finishing just as the chimes over the door jingled and announced their customers.

It was four of them this time, and Lorraine recognized Mrs. Matthews and her sister Dolly, unmarried and quite the scandal, to quote Mrs. Harper, who was also in the group. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the other woman before, but she stood up straight anyway, smoothing down her skirt and putting on her best professional smile.

Good afternoon, she said. Welcome to Franklin’s Antiques.

Her chest barely came up to the counter top when she was standing behind it, but four sets of eyes stopped taking in the furniture and swung to her all the same.

Good afternoon, Lorraine, Dolly said, smiling at her. How are you?

I’m good, Dolly, Lorraine said back. Are you looking for anything special?

Mrs. Harper stepped forward. I heard that your father purchased Evelyn Cartwright’s silver tea set from her estate sale, she said.

Lorraine nodded, caramel colored curls flopping over her forehead. He did, she said. It’s in the back room if you want to have a look.

Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Matthews disappeared into the back together, and Lorraine heard her father greet them. She turned back to Dolly and the other woman, still smiling.

Oh, where are my manners? Dolly said. Abigail, this is Lorraine. She’s the owner’s daughter. Lorraine, this is Mrs. Samuel.

Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Samuel, Lorraine said. She was a beautiful woman, still youthful looking, even though she had to be at least seventy years old. Her steel grey hair was pulled up into an elegant knot, and she wore a dark green dress that made her skin seem to glow golden. But then she smiled, and her face seemed less severe and more friendly, and so Lorraine smiled back.

A pleasure, young lady. I’m sure you’re a big help to your father while he has you.

Lorraine nodded. Yes, ma’am. I like helping out.

That’s good. It’s rare to see young people with much enthusiasm about being helpful these days. I hope your father enjoys it while he can.

While he can? Lorraine asked, confused.

Mrs. Samuel nodded. Of course. Eventually, you’ll go off to college, discover boys, want to do something other than spend your time here among the relics. And there’s nothing wrong with that, mind you. That’s a part of growing up, the same as anything else.

As the two ladies walked away to examine an end table, Lorraine frowned. She didn’t think that would happen to her. And even if she did get a boyfriend or go to college, she wouldn’t stop loving the shop or loving her dad and wanting to help him. That would never happen, no matter what.

She waited until she was sure both ladies had their backs turned and then stuck her tongue out. Old people had the best stories, but they always thought they knew everything.

Prologue Two: Apollo and the Dying King

The halls of the castle on the hill were hushed, as they had been for the last few weeks. The celebrations and music that could usually be heard were nowhere to be found, and even though their king still lived, every citizen of Haven City on the planet Jantol knew that he didn’t have much time left to live.

They’d been mourning their ailing king since the moment it had been discovered that his illness wasn’t something he could recover from. Prias was beloved by his people, a shining example of what it meant to be a good king, and while no one knew yet who would be chosen to succeed him to the throne, they all knew that it wouldn’t be the same. No one was as kind or benevolent or fair as Prias, and there would never be another king like him.

Apollo was only nineteen years old, but he felt the pain of the king’s sickness as much as anyone else did. Maybe even more. He was one of the few who had the honor of calling themselves