Monday, 27 March 2017


NEW TITLE: The Wolf Within
PREVIOUS TITLE: Darkness & Light
SERIES: The Holloway Pack
AUTHOR: J.A. Belfield
GENRE: Paranormal Romance
RELEASE DATE: 9:10:2014

Jem Stonehouse, a housewife with a neurotic husband bent on keeping her in line, dreams about werewolves in, what she believes, is a bid to escape boredom.
Sean Holloway is a werewolf, living a charade within the human race, whose mind drifts to a bond he shares with a woman he hasn't met — at least, not in this lifetime.
Apart, the two are safe but live unfulfilled lives.
Together, they'll become prey to rival packs just as they have been for hundreds of years.
When their worlds collide, and not for the first time, instinct takes over. Dreams become reality. Futures are uncertain. To keep history from repeating itself, Sean must teach Jem about his heritage, convince her of her role, and win her love.
Can Jem accept her destiny before it's too late, or is her inner wolf buried too deep to save her future with Sean?



“What are you writing?”
His voice held a smooth, velvety texture. As I listened to him, my pen paused mid-sentence. Once he’d stopped, my hand brushed the paper again—detailing my passage to the bedroom door.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
Again, the sound of his voice faltered my hand. “It’s a record,” I said, without removing my eyes from the word I’d just written.
“What about?”
“Dreams I’ve been having.” I frowned at my willingness to explain, yet still continued, “It’s a record of a story within my dreams.”
“So ... are you in your story, then?”
My lips twitched, but my focus didn’t waver. “Obviously, if they’re my dreams I’m writing about.”
He gave a deep chuckle, but I didn’t glance up, merely finished my disrupted sentence. “What do you dream about?”
I wrote another line before answering with a shrug. “Werewolves.”
He didn’t laugh, as I expected him to. “Do you have many dreams about werewolves?”
My head nodded slowly. “They’re almost always about werewolves—have been my entire life.”
I didn’t know why I took the time to answer him while busy. Maybe I liked the sound of his voice and wasn’t averse to hearing it a little more.
“So, if the story is about you, what’s the name of the heroine?”
“I think heroine is a major overstatement,” I said. “But if you want to know what my name is, maybe you should just ask.”
He chuckled again as I wrote another line. By that time, the stairs of doom had been reached. “If I ask your name, will you tell me?”
I took a deep breath but didn’t answer.
“Is there a hero in your story?” he asked after a brief silence.
“Sean isn’t a hero. He’s a pain in the arse.” I frowned, surprised by my language, as well as my assessment.
“Sean,” he said, his voice full of amusement again. “Sorry, what did you say the heroine’s name was?”
“My name’s Jem.”
“Jem? Not Jemma, or Jemima?”
“Just Jem,” I said.
His sigh was audible. “That’s because you were born in June, right, after the star sign, Gemini?”
My shoulders stiffened, and my eyes narrowed.
“The twins,” he continued. “Two sides to the same person?”
With a slow lift of my head, I studied him properly for the first time.
Deep brown, dangerous-looking eyes sparkled back at me, his full mouth turned up at one corner to reveal a crooked smile. His arm lifted from the table, and he rubbed across hair standing thick and unruly above a face softened by an angular jaw line with cheekbones to match.
I followed the flight of his hand, took in the rich, chocolate brown strands it ruffled, and my heart beat a little faster. As my eyes travelled across his body, took in prominent muscles—evident even beneath his casual attire—I realised he’d come in with the man who’d held open the door for the old lady.
Lowering my feet to the floor, I sat up straighter, glanced around. A few tables back were his two blond friends—staring straight at me.
The fluorescent girls alternated between watching them, and me and my concentration-breaker, as though hoping for the other two for themselves.
I turned back to him. “What did you just say?”
“Gemini,” he said. “You’re called Jem because of your star sign. You are Jem Stonehouse … aren’t you?”
How could he know me? He even used my maiden name. Heartbeat building from timpani to an army of bass drums, I asked, “Do I know you?”
“I really hope you do, otherwise I’m making a complete fool of myself.”
“Who are you?”
He smiled, his eyebrow lifting with his slight head tilt. “My name’s Sean, Jem. I’m Sean.”


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