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Showing posts with label #Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Fiction. Show all posts

Sunday, April 20, 2025

My Writing Process (Guest Post) by Deven Greene Author of the Novel The Organ Broker. (#contests- Enter to win a print copy of the book.)@partnersincrimetours


I would like to extend a warm welcome to Deven Greene to Books R Us. Deven is the author of the novel "The Organ Broker." The author has provided us with a guest post just for my readers. Don’t forget to enter the giveaway below to win a print copy of the book. Thanks for stopping by.

THE ORGAN BROKER

by Deven Greene

March 31 - April 25, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A devoted wife and mother faces the unimaginable as her life crumbles.

The Organ Broker by Deven GreeneCrystal Rigler seems to have a perfect marriage. Derek, her handsome and charismatic husband, and their adult daughter, Cordelia, are her whole world. In addition to her already busy life, Crystal supports the volunteer organization she and Derek started: STOP (Stop Transplants of Organs from Prisoners).

STOP aims to end a new government policy of harvesting organs from executed prisoners. They learn that these organs are not distributed by the national transplant list, established to allocate organs fairly. Instead, a shadowy figure known as Broker Al pulls the strings. He expedites the execution of young and healthy prisoners and sells their organs at a high price to the rich and well-connected.

After Crystal learns a disturbing secret, events are set in motion that will potentially dismantle STOP, change her life, and cost her everything. Unless she is willing to do the unthinkable…

Praise for The Organ Broker:

"The Organ Broker by Deven Greene was intricate and captivated my attention from the first page. The story was fast-paced with not a single dull moment."
~ Readers' Favorite

"If you enjoy moral dilemmas, complex characters, and a plot that feels uncomfortably plausible, this book will leave you thinking long after the ending."
~ Literary Titan

"...electrifyingly intense... Introspective and entertaining, The Organ Broker navigates the delicate balance between principles and priorities."
~ Indies Today

"The Organ Broker … teeters between thriller, novel, a story of medical and social challenge, and more. It stands out from others about organ harvesting simply because it evolves a complex plot that engages characters and readers in a moral and ethical dance spiced with intrigue and the unexpected."
~ D. Donovan, Sr. Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

THE ORGAN BROKER Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense
Published by: Panthera Publishing
Publication Date: April 2025
Number of Pages: 321
ISBN: 9781964620060 (ISBN10: 1964620066)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Google Books | Apple Books | Kobo | Goodreads

GUEST POST:


My Writing Process

By Deven Greene

Yesterday, I finished the rough draft of my next novel. Writing the first draft is the most fun part of the publishing process for me, but I’m plenty busy before and after that.

Prior to sitting down and typing (yes, I type as opposed to using paper and pen or pencil), I’ve spent a while thinking about what I will write. Sometimes, a plot idea pops into my head. Other times, a current event takes hold in my brain. There’s also a list of ideas I’ve made that I can refer to for future stories. Once I know what I will write about, I start my research. My works mostly revolve around science or medicine. Although I may already know a lot about the subject, there is often still quite a bit I need to learn. I think it’s best to “overlearn” the subject. I don’t feel compelled to include everything I know—I don’t want my books to read like a textbook.

Once I sit down to begin, I have a goal of writing a certain number of words a day. That usually takes me several hours, leaving me free to think about details that I might want to add or change. I don’t edit much at that point—I just type. I often need to check on facts as I proceed or make a note to check something out later. Some days are a bit tough—I might have a scene I planned out in my head, only to find when I write it out that something isn’t working right. I need to figure my way out of whatever quagmire I’ve written myself into. Some days, on the other hand, are a breeze—I pretty much know what I’m going to write before I sit down, and the words just flow.

When I’m done with the first draft, the hard work begins. I wait a few weeks, then start the arduous task of proofreading. At this point, I check spelling and grammatical errors. I may find a plot hole or contradiction that needs to be corrected. I often decide I don’t like the names I’ve chosen for some characters and spend some time choosing names I like better. The software makes it easy to search for the old name and replace it with the new one.

Then comes the moment of truth: having other people read my manuscript. It may be months before I feel I have enough input. That often results in more changes, but the story is stronger because of it.

Thanks for reading.


Read an Excerpt:

Chapter 1

The East Texas sun was hotter than usual for September, the few clouds high above providing no relief. A half-hour earlier, overcome by heat and exhaustion, Crystal had let her sign reading “Save Kwami” slip to the ground. Standing near the front of the crowd, Crystal pushed up the visor on her baseball cap to get a better look at her surroundings. She was pleased with the impressive turnout which she estimated to be close to one thousand people. It was the largest they’d ever had. Most of the other protestors continue to hold their placards high, displaying myriad slogans such as “Justice for Kwami,” “Let Kwami Live,” “Impeach Gov. Percy,” and the most popular, “STOP.” She took a deep breath and lifted her sign again, fighting the pain in her fingers as she held it as high as she could.

The crowd of protestors was comprised of a cross-section of the community— young, old, couples, families, Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian. A colorful array of baseball caps, bucket hats, visors, straw hats, and cowboy hats protected most of the heads from the constant flood of the sun’s rays.

The makeshift podium and public address system were rudimentary, and there was the usual milling around often seen in large gatherings, but the audience, for the most part, was paying attention to the pudgy young man with a man bun speaking to them. At times, the crowd burst out in synchronous claps and hoots of approval. The assembly was peaceful, with only a few skirmishes breaking out at the edges where police stood watch.

Still thirsty after having finished her bottle of water, Crystal let her mind wander as the speaker droned on about the immorality of what was about to take place. Her clothes clung to her sweaty body, and despite wearing sunglasses with polarized lenses, the bright sun hurt her eyes. Looking down, she swatted away a bug that landed on her arm. Uncomfortable and impatient, she was eagerly awaiting the next speaker.

Finally, the man at the podium looked up and announced, “And now, the man you’ve all been waiting to hear, the leader of our organization, Mr. Derek Rigler.”

The mood of the crowd changed, and participants started chanting “STOP” in unison as they raised and lowered their signs. A tall, muscular man with tan skin and wavy blond hair, took to the stage next to the previous speaker and scanned the crowd with his magnetic blue eyes. Crystal looked up and smiled. His handsome, chiseled features gave him the look of a confident leader. Although he was nearly fifty years old, he looked at least ten years younger. He hasn’t lost the ability to attract attention whenever he enters a room.

Derek took his place on the podium and held out his arms as if to give a benediction. After almost a full minute of roaring applause, he raised and lowered his hands several times to quiet the crowd.

Crystal looked around, energized by the enthusiasm bubbling over. She noted more press vans set up around the perimeter than in the previous protest. Their organization, STOP, was gaining traction.

She wondered if Derek had picked her out of the crowd. If she were taller, he’d probably see her—she wasn’t far from the front—but she imagined her five-foot two-inch frame made her visage difficult to identify in the sea of people. From what she could glean, Derek hadn’t spotted her. After all, she was just another brunette under a baseball cap, surrounded by many others. Even so, Crystal smiled widely, wondering if anyone nearby recognized her. After all, she was notable as Derek’s wife and the mother of his child, Cordelia.

As Derek started his familiar diatribe against the Texas death penalty laws, Crystal tried to lock eyes with him, but his eyes never found her. Instead, he focused on members of the audience near and far, concentrating his gaze on one person for several seconds before moving on to the next pair of waiting eyes.

Crystal recognized the usual arguments against the event that was scheduled to take place momentarily—the uneven death penalty sentencing, the ugliness of exacting revenge, and the irreversibility of the punishment once meted out. The speech was powerful, and she agreed with everything Derek said. She could recite the words by heart, not only because she had heard them during Derek’s practice sessions, but because she had written them herself. Every time the crowd reacted with hollers and claps, she felt taller, each breath a bit more satisfying. She’d been to over six of these rallies in the past year, each protesting the execution of a prisoner found guilty of a crime deemed fitting for capital punishment.

The death penalty had never sat well with Crystal, but over the past two years, the practice had escalated, with four more executions scheduled over the next six months in Texas alone. Not only was the ultimate punishment meted out more often, but the evidence leading to convictions was frequently less convincing. She’d made up her mind to do something to stop the injustice and had established STOP almost a year earlier. A small, grass-roots collection of like-minded people, it was taking hold, thanks to her speech writing, community outreach, and organizational skills, bolstered by her husband’s charisma. He was the face of the organization.

Derek’s address was interrupted by a loud commotion as the officers stationed around the perimeter began to forcefully clear a path through the protestors to the entryway of the large building looming behind the speaker. Despite shouting and resistance from the crowd, with the most passionate demonstrators being handcuffed and dragged away, the police were able to open a wide berth.

“We are nearing the time,” Derek shouted above the commotion, “the time when our brother Kwami will be taken from us in an act that can only be described as state-sponsored murder. Let all those who have participated in this mockery of justice one day pay for their crimes, and let all those who directly benefit from this violent act realize the wrong they have participated in.”

A police transport moved through the clearing in the crowd as demonstrators chanted “Kwami, Kwami” in unison. Although the windows of the vehicle were covered, all knew who was inside—Kwami McKinney, sentenced to be executed that day. The van didn’t stop until it was a mere five feet from the door to the building. A massive construction of cement and glass six stories high, the structure dwarfed the trees and other buildings nearby. Derek was silent as he turned to watch the Black prisoner, his head shaved, exit the van's side door.

Dressed in an orange jumpsuit accessorized with ankle and wrist shackles, Kwami was escorted by two armed guards, each holding onto one of his arms. Two more prison officers took up the rear. As the party of five walked towards the glass doors of the building, a Black woman around fifty years old ran towards them screaming. She was forcibly stopped by police, who grabbed onto her arms long before she could interfere.

Everyone there knew the woman was Sally McKinney, Kwami’s mother. She yelled and cried hysterically, flailing against those restraining her as her son was led through the automated doors that opened before him and the guards. They disappeared inside the structure as the glass doors shut.

People in the crowd yelled and cried, drowning out Ms. McKinney's wails. Frustrated tears filled Crystal’s eyes; their protest had done nothing to dissuade the authorities from carrying out their sentence. She hadn’t expected the proceedings to be halted, but held onto a glimmer of hope until now, irrational as it was.

She looked to Derek for comfort, hoping they might finally lock gazes and convey their sadness to each other, but Crystal’s thoughts were interrupted by a female acquaintance. “Fantastic speech,” the woman said.

“I can’t disagree,” Crystal answered, buoyed momentarily by the woman’s words.

“You must be very proud, being his wife. He’s so handsome, and brilliant to boot. You two are the perfect couple. I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall at your dinner table to hear about all his great ideas.”

The words stung slightly, as Crystal chuckled politely. She was accustomed to being thought of as a mere appendage of her charismatic husband, but, she’d tried to convince herself that a successful protest, with Derek delivering a resounding speech, was all that was important. She didn’t need the admiration of others like he did. “Our dinners aren’t as interesting as you might think. Mostly, we talk about how we’re going to pay our bills.”

Members of the press, who until now had been scattered amongst the protestors while taking notes and silently recording videos, were now talking and interviewing people on camera. The crowd thinned, but Crystal didn’t want to leave. She’d have liked to remain until she knew Kwami had taken his last breath, but that moment was hours away.

She listened as a nearby male telecaster spoke into a camera. “Emotions are again high as another execution is about to take place. While many people feel that the crimes Kwami McKinney was convicted of, armed robbery and hostage-taking, justify the death sentence, some feel the punishment is too severe for the crimes the prisoner was convicted of. Still others believe he is innocent of the charges against him.”

The reporter turned to a middle-aged female bystander and asked, “What do you think of today’s events? Do you think justice is being carried out today?” After posing the question, he shoved the microphone close to the woman’s mouth.

“This is a travesty of justice,” she answered. “The real criminal was wearing a ski mask during the robbery, and escaped capture immediately following the crime. That was made clear during the trial. We also learned that Mr. McKinney was picked out in a lineup by two unreliable witnesses days later. There was a boatload of evidence that the so-called witnesses had drug charges against them dropped shortly after identifying Mr. McKinney. What kind of justice is that?”

The telecaster quickly turned to the camera and continued his reporting. “Despite the controversy, Kwami McKinney is still scheduled to be executed here and now at New Lake Hospital. While we are happy for the families of the six unnamed individuals who will be the recipients of much-needed organs, many are questioning the legality and morality of what is now becoming a common method of organ procurement. The objections are being led by the organization STOP, which stands for Stop Transplants of Organs from Prisoners.”

***

Excerpt from The Organ Broker by Deven Greene. Copyright 2025 by Deven Greene. Reproduced with permission from Deven Greene. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Deven Greene lives in Northern California, where she enjoys writing fiction, most of which involves science or medicine. She has degrees in biochemistry (PhD) and medicine (MD), and practiced pathology for over twenty years.

She has previously published the The Erica Rosen MD Trilogy (Unnatural, Unwitting, and Unforeseen), and Ties That Kill, as well as several short stories.

Catch Up With Deven Greene:

www.DevenGreene.com
Subscribe to Deven's Blog
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub @Deven_G1
Facebook @DevenGreeneFiction

 

 

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Friday, April 18, 2025

Cover Reveal Of Fallen (Darkness Ascending Volume 1- Multi-Author Anthology

Fallen: Darkness Ascending
Multi-Author Anthology

Publication date: September 26th 2025
Genres: Adult, Horror, Paranormal

Dark pacts.

Those fallen from grace now roam the shadows.

The line between salvation and damnation blurs as the wicked are cursed to roam.

In this bleak world, redemption is a mere illusion.

Fear guides each step as they confront the retribution of a world that has forsaken them.

In forgotten realms, the path to salvation leads only deeper into the abyss.

This collection of chilling tales plunges into the depths of your darkest nightmares, where fallen angels and wicked deeds intertwine. Each story unfolds a new layer of terror and temptation, more unsettling than the last, revealing the sinister nature of those once touched by grace.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order


@rejohnsonauthor
@authorsiennarae   
@asetaski
@rosebitterly
@taryn_moreau
@latrexanova
@ydlamar 
@authorruqayyah

Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Book Blitz Of Spies Like Me-The Gems #1 (#Contests- Enter to win A $50 Amazon Gift Card)

Spies Like Me

Doug Solter
(The Gems, #1)
Publication date: October 4th 2016
Genres: Thriller, Young Adult

They offered Emma revenge…

When she discovers her father’s plane crash wasn’t an accident, sixteen-year-old Emma wants to punish those responsible. Even if it means becoming a spy for a mysterious organization known as The Authority. They want Emma to join the Gems…four teenage girls with unique skills…who know how to handle dangerous spy missions around the world…like storming a mountain stronghold to stop terrorists from incinerating the world’s food supply.

The Authority thinks Emma is the missing link to make this team work.

Emma thinks The Authority is her only chance for revenge.

Spies Like Me is the first novel in The Gems Young Adult spy thriller series, although all books in the Gems world can be read as standalone adventures. This is a fast-paced action story with diverse characters, cool spy gadgets, girl-power bonding, deep family secrets, ruthless villains, twists and turns, and a romance with a complex boy to figure out.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

Only 99c for a limited time!

EXCERPT:

The school’s auditorium stage was bathed in colors. White for the actors. Orange for the wooden set representing the faraway pyramids of Egypt. Blue to emphasize the painted sky backdrop above it all. It was the opening night performance of The Spy Who Loathed Me.

Emma Rothchild strutted across the stage in a gorgeous floor-length silk dress, her costume for this scene. Tonight, she craved the eyes of the audience and knew this dress guaranteed their full attention.

Emma was deep into character. She was Russian spy Olga Tetrovich. Emma had studied online videos of Russians speaking candidly and mimicked their accents as best she could. Her drama teacher had complimented Emma on her dedication to the craft.

The MI6 spy George Bond followed Olga on stage, but hid behind a fake tree. The actor’s rich brown skin might be a shock to the 007 spy traditionalists in the audience, but Emma hoped that his performance would win them over. Bond was following her in this scene, thinking she would lead the English spy straight to the microfilm that was stolen from him by a Brazilian dwarf named Tatu.

From a souvenir stand, Emma picked up a clay model of the pyramids, something a tourist would buy at a market. She smashed the stage prop against the table in dramatic fashion and held up the roll of microfilm hidden inside so the audience could see it.

George Bond made his move. He crept up behind Emma without detection while she slipped the microfilm into her small hand purse. Emma’s hand came out holding a cap-gun revolver. She pivoted on her heels, making her dress swoosh around her ankles, and aimed the gun at Bond. The move looked great in rehearsals.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Bond,” Emma said, with her gentle Russian accent. “Our brief partnership is at an end. I have what my government wants. Now I will take my revenge. Do you remember that man you killed in Vienna?”

“Yes, I do,” George Bond said.

“He was my lover.”

Emma waited for Bond’s next line.

But the actor hesitated.

Emma was about to lose it. Did Lewis forget again? They’d rehearsed this scene, like, twenty times.

“What do you have to say about that, Mr. Bond?”

The line was an ad-lib, something to draw the next line out of the boy’s mouth.

Lewis’s face was a river of sweat as his eyes glazed over, the actor turning himself into just another tree on stage.

“Your silence is a good enough confession for me. Any last words before I fire?” Emma went off script, but Lewis could pick his line up there. She was trying to help him.

But the boy shook his head. Lewis wasn’t taking the hint.

Emma pulled the trigger and the gun hammer snapped forward. She squeezed the trigger numerous times in a series of loud snaps. Emma dropped the weapon. “You planted that empty gun in my handbag, didn’t you?”

Lewis nodded. Okay, he’d reacted to that ad-lib.

It was a sliver of hope, so Emma went with it. “Then I’ll have to kill you with my bare hands.” Emma approached Lewis with her arms raised in a karate-looking stance. The boy blinked, still trapped inside his scary place. What could Emma do now? Physically attack him? Bond was supposed to seduce the Russian agent, not have her attack him.

Then a breath of inspiration hit her.

Emma grabbed Lewis’s shoulders. She guided him over to a bench on the set and made him lie down. Emma plopped her body on top of Lewis and pretended to struggle with him. Emma whispered into his ear, “Now get up and glare at me, Lewis.”

His eyes blinked again. Lewis rolled out from under her and stood on stage. Emma pressed her back against the seat of the bench and stayed there while Lewis glared.

Emma labored her breathing, as if she were being seduced. “Oh, why can I not kill you, Mr. Bond? What power do you hold over me?”

Lewis didn’t move, his glare frozen on his petrified face.

Emma knew this would work better if Lewis helped sell it, but…she lifted herself from the bench like a graceful ballerina, trying to act seduced by Bond’s man-powers. “Why can I not kill you, Mr. Bond?” she repeated.

Emma went for his lips, kissing Lewis with passion, as if the male spy had successfully messed with her brain. As Emma eased her lips away from his…life came back into Lewis’s eyes. He gripped Emma and pulled her towards him and they kissed again.

Finally, the boy was acting.

Author Bio:

Doug Solter has worked behind the scenes in television for over twenty-five years. He began writing screenplays, then made the switch to young adult fiction. Doug respects cats, loves the mountains, and one time walked the streets of Barcelona with a smile. Doug is a member of SCBWI, IBPA, and Pennwriters.

If you would like to know when his next book will come out, please follow him on Amazon or visit his website at dougsolter.com and sign up to receive emails about new releases and special giveaways.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Twitter / Youtube


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Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Book Blitz of Omega's Choice by Michelle Minnie (#Contests- Enter to win An Amazon Gift Card)

Omega’s Choice
Michelle Minnie

(The Omega Chronicles, #1)
Publication date: March 27th 2025
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Helena has led an often restrictive life as a sacred Omega wolf and Princess of the Lichtenberg line. With unimaginable power, come responsibilities and dangers that fill her days, but the time has come for her to choose her Alpha and enjoy the freedom of her very own pack. Alpha Aldric Forst has been seriously scarred in numerous battles for his King while leading armies in the fight to protect their lands from the growing evil. Knowing his ability to attract an Omega mate was slim and he’d resigned himself to a life of loneliness filled with duty to his pack and King Leonidas.

Princess Helena has other ideas for the massive wolf, who both intrigues and sets her heart on fire. At the choosing ceremony, she intends to make her intentions of mating with Aldric Frost known to all. However, an evil is lurking inside the castle walls waiting for its chance to steal away the Princess and as many other Omega wolves as possible. Can Aldric uncover the traitor in time or are the lonely Alpha’s dreams destined to remain just that, dreams.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

I’m not planning on attending this year.” Aldric crumpled the offending piece of paper and threw it into the trash can beside his desk. “I refuse to parade around in hope of being chosen when we all know that’s not going to happen.” He stopped pacing long enough to point out the large scar that ran from his left temple across his cheek to his chin and down his neck before disappearing into his shirt.

“Brother, you’re the alpha of our pack and it’s your duty to attend this gathering. Not only is it a decree by King Leonidas, but who is to say an omega won’t choose you. You’re a respected and strong alpha, our pack is large, and we have our

own town and over five hundred acres of wooded

lands to let our wolves run free without fear.

There are a lot of benefits to becoming the alpha

mate and omega to our people.” Godric stood

and retrieved the invitation from the garbage,

flattening it out on the desk as best he could and

handing it back to Aldric.

“Your brother is right, son. You must attend.

We have a strong relationship with the king and

queen, which has been fortuitous since our lands

touch on their northern borders. To refuse an invitation

to the yearly Omegas Celebration by any

unmated alpha would be an insult.” Aldric’s father,

Karl, stood and placed his hand on his son’s back.

“I know it has been hard for you, son, since Senorfra.

That battle claimed far too many of our brave

men, but bless the gods you survived, protected

our king, and came back to us.”

Admittedly, it was odd that even in this modern

age of convenience and technology, most

supernatural beings lived by the old code of fealty,

honor, and loyalty. Considering most lived to be

well over one thousand years, having rules to live

by and a king to follow ensured the safety and

health of all werewolves.

“True, we fought bravely and many men never

returned from that damned forest, but the rest of

us came back scarred in one way or another. My

scars cover my body, and there’s no omega out

there who will choose me. When will any of you

see this? Omegas are rare and wield powerful

magic. They can pick any alpha and any pack they

wish and be given anything they desire because of

the blessings they will bring to that pack. I’m not

saying that an omega doesn’t deserve such things,

but none would want a battle-scarred alpha, no

matter how wealthy or strong our pack is. Perhaps

if Godric went, he—”

“No, don’t even finish that sentence. I am no

alpha, brother. I couldn’t even dream of taking

your place. This pack—hell, the entire town looks

to you for leadership. You have given all of them

a safe place to live and thrive with their families. I

respect you, brother. You will always be my alpha.”

Aldric stared at his reflection in the window.

He knew he was a scary-looking man; his wolf

was even more imposing. His human form stood

at 6’7” and weighed over 280 pounds of muscle,

which had been hard earned through his years as

a general in King Leonidas’s army before the war

ended and Aldric had settled with his family and

pack on these lands. His black hair was braided

halfway down his back, just as his father’s and

brother’s, but his dark blue eyes came from his

mother. Tattoos covered his right arm, wrist to

shoulder blade, depicting his family lineage and

his position as alpha. They revealed themselves

on the day Aldric assumed his position as alpha.

Should he ever be chosen as mate, his blank left

arm would reveal his mating tattoo, indicating the

lineage of his mate, their joining, and any future

offspring. The tattoos his kind wore could not

be given by their own hands or magic; they were

given by the gods, either at birth or upon claiming

their birthright.

Aldric knew in his heart that his left arm would

always remain bare. His great size alone would be

a deterrent to most omegas, who typically feared

a larger predator, but the scars from his many

battles that littered his body made sure to keep

all would-be mates away. Normally, a werewolf

could heal most injuries without leaving so much

as a scratch, but the ogres had coated their blades

with dark witches ’blood, which was poisonous to

all werewolves and much more difficult to heal,

leaving many warriors with these scars.

He just couldn’t figure out why his family chose

to ignore these facts and continued to make him

attend these celebrations, which allowed omegas

of age who had come into their powers to choose

an alpha as mate.


Author Bio:

Michelle grew up with a love of reading and writing as most authors do but her desire for action and adventure led her to create worlds far different from her own. With creatures of myth and legend, as well as from her imagination, Michelle crafted entire universes into her pages where she brings her characters to life in a stunning array from shifters, witches, demons, ogres, gods, fae, fairy, and dragon, to countless more. Hold on tight as her high fantasy stories take you on journeys to faraway lands where nothing is as it seems.

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Friday, March 28, 2025

Book Blitz of Touch Of The Elegrian by Cheryl A. Arko (#contests- Enter to win An Amazon Gift Card)

Touch of the Elegrian
Cheryl A. Arko
Publication date: March 25th 2025
Genres: Adult, Science Fiction

Prejudice. Legacy. Redemption.

Erys carries a secret that could shatter his world. The telepathic Elegrian has spent his life atoning for his dead father’s role in humanity’s disastrous first contact. Now, as a tech specialist for the Earth-led alliance, he serves in silence—until sabotage threatens the lives of dozens of human children. And the traitor is one of his own.

Forced to work with a brilliant but hostile human engineer, Erys must dismantle not only the deadly conspiracy but also the deep-seated mistrust between their peoples. With time running out, he faces an impossible choice: break the fragile Elegrian-Human treaty and invite the death penalty to forge a forbidden mind link with a human… or let innocent lives be lost.

Two worlds on the brink. A single act of defiance. Can compassion rewrite a doomed future?

The Elegrian Legacy begins here—a gripping sci-fi adventure rich in high-stakes dilemmas, deep character bonds, and first-contact intrigue.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT

Far, far away to the east, in New York City, where magic and power and rumor swirled in their own urban galaxy, a very ancient and powerful creature lived in the highest tower money could buy. While many of his kind lived and worked in the greater New York area, coiled around the rise and fall of stocks and bonds in an endless dance of power and wealth, he was by far the oldest in that den of snakes. He was old enough that his thick fingers still dreamed of worn gold coins and his body of piles of treasure beneath his scales. Now, of course, he slept only on damask of the finest quality, spread over a memory foam mattress—nowhere near as comfortable as cold hard cash.

That night, he was window shopping, his hungry eye roving over page after page of the most exotic goods Sotheby’s online could offer.

If one lived long enough, even the most exquisite meals tasted like ashes on the tongue; breathe often enough, and even bottled air from Everest smelled stale and flat. He could hardly be bothered to hide his own nature when he was alone—the secret theater of the Council and its Compact had been a bit of a thrill for a while, but Mr. Drake—just Drake to his friends—was getting bored.

He yawned, and his long, forked tongue spilled out, unfurling and flicking against his human nose. No one was around to see it, so he wasn’t breaking the Law, and besides, he missed all the parts of his true shape quite badly. Missed a herd of sheep’s eyes rolling in terror. Probably lamb again tonight, from that place on the other side of Broadway.

Mr. Drake’s lair took up the entire upper floor of his tall tower in the center of the city, wide rooms filled with the carcasses of kingdoms burned to the ground beneath his fearsome will. Company logos on banners from decades past, those battle standards of board members who had crumbled and fallen to their knees in merger upon acquisition upon merger. Darwin had certainly been on the money about the adaptation of species. In the face of adversity, Drake and the rest of his kind had thrived, but—

But he wanted to spread his wings high above his head, soar over the crescent moon, sweep down on farmland and gout flame from his throat; the glorious crescendo of a sun going supernova. Instead, he stoked another cigar, the smoke curling from his nose a pacifying reminder of who he had to be now.

His cellphone lit up, vibrating on the long cocobolo desk. Drake looked down at it with a grimace and tapped the screen with one stubby finger.

“Drake,” he said. “How do you have this number?”

“I have my ways, Old One.”

He was in the middle of pouring himself another whiskey, ready to tear this joker a new set of holes, when he recognized the voice and sighed.

“Old One, is it? When was your sweet sixteen, Morgan?”

“Oh well, you know me,” The Hollow Woman sounded far too cheery for his tastes. “Evergreen.”

Drake snorted.

“Isn’t it still daylight on your side of the world? Why don’t you go out and catch some rays, you old hag? Go get a tan. Would be good for the both of us.”

“Have it your way,” Morgan said sweetly. “Don’t trouble yourself with little old me, then.”

“I won’t,” he snarled, and hung up. Smoke was starting to waft down from the high ceilings, having pooled there in those short minutes on the phone. The AC here was top notch, of course, the best AC in the city, but nothing manmade could keep up with his kind’s distemper. He flipped through a few more pages on Sotheby’s, but quickly, rapidly stabbing his finger on the mouse. He tried to hum something to himself, and his phone buzzed again.

“All right. This is getting old pretty fast,” he said. “Spit it out already and go away. What do you want?”

“Want? Oh, darling Drake, not a thing. Not a single thing.”

He laughed, a deep rumble like an earthquake, the magma pushing up beneath the surface.

“Wanting is what you’re for, Morgan. Maybe you forgot?”

“Well, now. Maybe you’re not interested.” She was almost purring. Purring! “I’m sure one of your brothers will be.” And she hung up on him.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit, he thought. The haze of smoke had curled down just above the surface of his cocobolo desk. If he wasn’t careful, he would trigger the alarms on the floor below again. He took a breath. He took another. I am a calm blue ocean, he thought to himself. I can be one with my feelings.

Author Bio:

CHERYL ARKO is a science fiction author and an accomplished senior data scientist with a long career in IT and medical data analysis. She has loved reading science fiction ever since she could connect letters into words, devouring everything from Andre Norton to E.E. "Doc" Smith to more and more authors through the years who have shared their thought-provoking ideas of imagined places and alternate realities.

TOUCH OF THE ELEGRIAN is Cheryl's debut novel and was a Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist for best Science Fiction/Fantasy. She writes stories that take her to the stars, imagining who we might find out there, inviting readers to come along for the ride to visit new worlds and their people. To explore what makes us different—and what makes us the same. And to discover the inherent good that exists in the universe to balance against darkness, no matter how far we travel.

A seasoned dog trainer, Cheryl lives with her beloved Airedales in a tiny house nestled within thirty acres of serene Minnesota pine trees.

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