Book Blitz of Poseidon's Daughters Reckoning by Reign Reeves Pearson (#Contests- Enter to Win An Amazon Gift Card)

Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning

By
Reign Reeves Pearson

 (Poseidon’s Daughters, #1)

Publication date: March 21st 2025
Genres: Adult, Science Fiction, Thriller

They trained her to be a weapon. Now, she’s turning the blade on them.Eirianwen was Poseidon’s crowning achievement—until she walked away from everything. She’s evaded them for years, carving out a life in the shadows, leaving behind the bloodstained world they forced her into. Now, the past she’s been running from has finally caught up. A storm-wracked night. A breach in her sanctuary. Someone is watching. Someone is waiting. And this time, they don’t just want her dead—they want her to doubt herself. They want the world to believe she’s lost her mind.

They’ve been watching her. Manipulating her. Preparing for her downfall.

Now, the elite organization that built her is coming to collect. Not to kill—to control. They don’t need to break her. They just need to make sure no one believes her when she starts screaming.They want her to understand that her escape, her freedom, was all an illusion.

Erased. Discredited. Untouchable.

But Eirianwen has spent her whole life surviving. And when the walls start closing in, she doesn’t run. She hunts.

Poseidon wants her desperate. Unraveling. Helpless.

They’re about to learn just how dangerous she can be.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Eirianwen ripped out the earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. Panic swirled at the edges of her mind, but she forced it down. Now wasn’t the time. She grabbed a larger bag from under the desk, slung it over her shoulder, and stormed out. In the closet, she set the bag aside, pressing a hidden panel on the side of her bed. A drawer slid open, revealing her arsenal. Her hands shook as she armed herself, snapping a knife into its sheath and loading a handgun with quick, practiced movements. Now, to find them. Moving swiftly, she ran through the house, slipping out the back door and straight into the storm-charged air. Sullivan’s workshop. If she was going to do this right, she’d need a shovel. She yanked open the heavy wooden door, eyes darting over the mess inside.Where the fuck is it? Why is this place always such a goddamn disaster?

A glint of metal under the workbench caught her eye. She crouched, snatched up a spade, and bolted back outside. The rain had started in earnest, cold drops slicing through the thick humidity. She sprinted to where the trackers last pinged, her boots sinking slightly into the softening earth, almost tripping thanks to a low spot. Looking back at the spot, it was all wrong. She knew something was buried there.

Gripping the shovel tightly, she drove it into the ground. The soil gave easily…far too easily. The clay should have been a nightmare to dig through. Someone had already done the work for her. Within moments, her blade hit something solid, and dread curled in her stomach. She dropped to her knees, clawing at the loose earth with bare hands until the objects were free. Her breath hitched. Six trackers. All of them. Cold, useless, and buried like a mockery of her own paranoia. Eirianwen sat back on her heels, mud caking her fingers as she stared at the pile in her hands. Someone knew.

Her cheeks burned hot, but the rest of her body felt frozen. Tears welled, spilling silently down her face as the questions flooded in. Why? Why would Sullivan do this? Had he done this? He wouldn’t put the kids in danger—would he? Where were they? How long had he planned this? Her stomach twisted. Then, her phone buzzed—a single notification. Hands trembling, she wiped her palms on her pants and yanked it from her pocket. Wi-Fi restored—a new alert. Someone had just crossed the perimeter.

“It better be Sullivan and the kids.”

Eirianwen exhaled sharply, swiping at the sweat and tears streaking her face. Standing, she brushed the dirt from her clothes as best she could, shoving the useless trackers deep into her pocket. She locked her phone and steadied herself. If the kids were with Sullivan, she needed to stay calm. Normal. They couldn’t see the weapons strapped under her clothing. At least the incoming storm gave her an excuse to rush them inside. She’d get them safe first—then she’d deal with Sullivan. She turned toward the tree line, heart pounding in her throat. The property was massive, and she had built the house at its farthest edge. Finally, headlights cut through the gloom. A vehicle emerged. Not Sullivan’s truck. A cold, electric jolt shot down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her.

No one came out here. No one. She had made sure of it. For years, she had meticulously crafted the illusion of a perfectly ordinary life. She knew everyone in town—just enough to avoid suspicion, but never enough to invite curiosity. A delicate balance of friendly but distant. She never gave anyone a reason to visit. She didn’t even use their real address! She picked up all of their mail and deliveries in town. So who the hell thought they had the right to pull up to her house? The SUV slowed to a stop, tires crunching against the gravel. The doors swung open in near unison, and two men stepped out. Sheriff Ford. Deputy Pines. Ford adjusted his jacket, his gaze steady, unreadable. Pines lingered a step behind, eyes sharp, scanning. Ford closed the gap between them and gave Eirianwen a curt nod.

Author Bio:

Reign Reeves Pearson is a writer, storyteller, and chaos enthusiast based in Houston, where she lives with her husband, four kids, and three cats who may or may not be plotting world domination. She thrives on Kopiko, rainy days, and an endless love for Final Fantasy VII and Dungeons & Dragons.

She’s been writing for as long as she can remember. But in 2019, a health scare forced her to take a hard look at her life, and the answer was clear: writing wasn’t just something she did. It was what she was meant to do.

Her debut novel and series, Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning, is her first and only planned adventure into sci-fi. Going forward, expect Southern Gothic chills, cosmic nightmares, and nostalgic ‘90s horror—all infused with her signature mix of heart, humor, and a touch of the macabre.

When she’s not writing, she’s probably dreaming up elaborate D&D campaigns, getting emotionally wrecked by Final Fantasy VII (again), or staring dramatically out a window while it rains.

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Instagram

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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.

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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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