Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Blog Tour with Giveaway: J. A. Belfield's Resonance

Yay!!!  Woot woot!  Sooo very excited for this tour stop!
I love, love, love The Holloway Pack Series!!!!!
And Resonance (book #2.5) totally ROCKS (see my review here)!!!!

And it's extra exciting because there's a special "giveaway"
where EVERYONE's a winner.
Just submit a valid entry and you'll get Resonance for free (see all the dets below)!!!!
Wooooooo hooooooo!!!!

And as if that wasn't enough......
I have the COOLEST of guest posts!!!
J. A. has written a short story just for us!!!!  And I have the very first (of three) sections!

Genre:  Paranormal Romance
Publisher Type:  Small Print/Indie
My Rating: *  *  *  *  *

Guilt is a heavy burden for the one carrying it.

Jem Stonehouse is no exception to this rule.

What if she’d acted sooner? What if she’d fully recognised the threat? What if she hadn’t allowed the male pack members to head into the witches’ ambush?

For one, youngest pack member Josh Larsen wouldn’t be trapped in the sleep of the dead.

Now, Jem is convinced it’s her job to bring him back to life no matter what it takes— learning more about her heritage, risking pack exposure, or travelling to places she couldn’t have imagined possible.

Even if the journey endangers her soul.

J. A. is teasing us all with totally random one-liners from the book.
Here's mine (it's fab-bul-lous!!!).....

And now for that amazing guest post.  Part one of a very special exclusive short story....


What do you do when you discover your son isn’t human? How is a person supposed to deal with that kind of information?

Yet, I am the only one to blame.


Having never seen him again after that fateful night, I knew next to nothing about the father of my son. If I screwed up my eyes and concentrated hard, he appeared handsome enough in my mind’s eye—but I guess most things did when in a state of total inebriation.

I didn’t ask his name, and he never asked mine. He shared a few words of flattery, told a few jokes, plied with me wine, and then carried me home—literally. Most men left a calling card in the form of a love bite. Not that guy. He had to go one better. Nine weeks later, I discovered a tiny seed had been implanted within my womb.

For almost seven months, I felt like a fool. However, when my son entered the world, my opinions toward the man who’d helped create him no longer mattered. In my arms, I held my boy, my firstborn. White-blond curls framed his porcelain skin and startling blue eyes. He looked like an angel. I named him Gabe—Gabriel Lewis.


Throughout his life, we did fine, just the two of us. It was no longer considered a scandal to be labelled a one-parent family, even when the mother was only eighteen. We struggled through the terrible twos, and the ferocious fours, and the serenity sevens. By the time Gabe had settled within school, parenting brought joy, tears, and laughter, as opposed to the initial exasperation, tears, and tantrums. He’d been a bundle of energy from the day he was born. School, along with its extra-curricular activities, provided an outlet for that.

As life went on, he turned into a gangly pre-teen, and I became a mother adept at dealing with the onset of hormones.

I’d heard girls could be a handful—though, when my son leapt in the air because he saw an armpit hair, because his upper lip was slightly more shadowed than at age eleven, or because his penis had finally begun to grow? That was some crazy stuff to have to deal with.

Because developing, he most definitely was. Especially a year on, when he hit thirteen—boy, did he sprout.

My five-foot-three couldn’t be considered that small for a woman. When standing beside my thirteen year old son, who towered over me by at least half a foot, it somehow seemed smaller than it used to.

At fourteen, he added another two inches, taking him to an impressive five-foot-eleven. It became impossible to look at him without injury to my neck. Trying to reprimand someone who cast me in shadow was a joke. Not that I ever needed to. Apart from his infantile boredom, Gabe caused no worries for me. The hair on my head bore no grey.

Two years, four additional inches and pubescent temper, later it all changed. Like a switch had been hit, Gabe failed to represent the son I’d raised and loved.

His passivity gave way to aggression.

Not toward me, though—Gabe never treated me with anything other than respect.

His negativity was directed within himself.

“I hate hormones,” he’d say on a daily basis. “I’m sick of always feeling wrong.”

“Gabe, what do you mean: wrong?” I’d ask.

His fingers would tug at his hair, greasy since his shower the previous night, and his eyes would search the heavens for answers. Then he’d look back to me with a sigh and say in his deep masculine voice, “Just wrong, Mum. I don’t feel like me.”

Of course, we tried the doctor’s. 

“What are the symptoms?” the doctor asked when Gabe gave him ‘I feel wrong’ as an explanation for the visit.

We’d run through them: explosive appetite; inability to sit still; irritation and mood swings; constant perspiration; unrelenting sexual urges—though Gabe allowed me his perfected glare when I mentioned that one. 

Not to mention the little details we left off, too. Like, how every hour Gabe’s stomach would growl like a circus lion until food had been deposited within; or the afternoon he promised to help with rearranging the living room and lifted the sofa alone, carried it the width of the room without struggle; or the intermittent muscle spasms that started in his calves three days previous.

It didn’t matter. With a small shake of his head and a smile teasing the corners of his lips, the doctor had looked directly at Gabe and said, “It’s your hormones, son.”

As if we needed a doctor to tell us that.

So, back to not knowing why my son was being dealt a harsher blow than all his friends, we just had to deal with it.


Months passed, with Gabe trying to keep his angst in check, and with my placations to assist him along the way. His friends began dwindling. Even the girls’ who’d shown an increasing interest in the teenage wall of muscle grew tired of his constant snubs.

Only Mia stuck around, and the girl turned out to be a Godsend.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he’d tell me. “It isn’t like that.”

Except he’d sit on the settee, grouching about whatever was on the TV, and a lift of her feet to his lap and an order to ‘Massage’ were all it took to snap him out of whatever dark place he’d descended to—mere contact between the pair seemed to be enough.

I’d never seen two youngsters as close knit—so it came as no surprise that Mia was there when Gabe suffered his first … episode.

Sunday afternoons had always been a lazy day in our household: breakfast in bed, staying in our pyjamas until time to prepare dinner, making the effort to get washed and clothed whilst the joint was in the oven, chased by an afternoon of food and loafing.

The Sunday it happened was no exception—well, until lunchtime, anyway.

Mia arrived about eleven-thirty—just in time to help peel the carrots—and the morning rolled along in its usual merry way. Camaraderie was present as vegetables were tossed into pans, as lamb was basted in its juices, and custard spread over the trifle base. Gabe and Mia had been laughing and joking when I stepped out to claim the bathroom first.

On my emergence, I paused on the landing. “Bathroom’s free,” I called down to Gabe.

“’Kay. Coming.”

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, ‘it’ happened.

His unbearable cry of pain gave the first alert. Followed by the folding of his body—the tautening of every muscle visible around his boxers and vest—and the lifting of his head to stare up at me with terror-filled eyes.

At first I remained, frowning down at him, wondering how on earth he’d gone from upright and smiling to screaming and writhing.

Slamming back to earth, I raced down the stairs.

At the bottom, I almost collided with Mia as she shot in from the living room. My hands steadied her as I checked she was okay. When her fingers pressed to her lips and her eyes widened, I followed her gaze.

“Mum?” Gabe’s hoarse voice arrived thick with fear, uncertainty, and pain.

I dropped to my knees. With one hand reaching to wipe the sweat painting his face, my other rested on his shoulder to comfort as I peered up at Mia.

Standing near the doorway as though afraid to come closer, she stared wide-eyed at Gabe, and her finger made a slow, upward journey to point at the same time as movement hit my hand.

I turned back, my gaze landed on the source, and panic hit my chest with enough force to steal my breath.

To be continued ... {you can read Part II over at Laney McMann on Friday 5th April}

I know it's just killing you, not knowing what's next, right?!?
Well, you (and me, too) will just have to wait 'till Friday. 
In the meantime, here's the buy links for Resonance
if you just cannot wait for the end of the giveaway.....

Now I'm going to turn it back over to J. A. who will explain the giveaway....

The Big Resonance Giveaway!

April 2, 2013 marks the official release of Resonance upon the world, and yes, Resonance is available to purchase at all of the usual outlets. However, because I love and appreciate my fans so much, I decided to go on a mission to give something back.

Thanks to my super-duper editor, I’ve been granted permission for the following....

My Mission
I vow to give away a FREE copy of Resonance to everyone who submits a valid entry between April 2nd and May 2nd (inclusive).

On top of that, one main-prize winner will receive a Holloway Pack swag-bundle.

So, what do you have to do to enter?

Simples. Read on.

Resonance is, by no means, intended to be read as a standalone. If you haven't read at least Blue Moon, then you will have absolutely no idea what is happening in Resonance. Also, if you haven't read Blue Moon, then you will be hit upside the head with one massive spoiler for how the book ends if you read Resonance first.

Here's the deal. You can enter in any (or all, if you wish) of the following ways:

1) Post a picture of you with your precious copy of Blue Moon somewhere on the Internet. 
It does not have to be a hard copy (paperback); it can be the cover image on the screen of your Kindle/e-reader/reading tablet. No, pdf's do not count. If you have a pdf, then it's most probably an illegal copy, and so will only upset me. 

Once said picture is posted, link me up so I can see it. If you stick it on FB, then tag me, but remember, I have a space (for some bizarre reason) between my initials on there. So, make sure you use @J. A. Belfield in your tag. NB: There will be a space in the Rafflecopter form to paste in a link to your pic, also, just in case I miss any or the tagging doesn't work. If you stick it on Twitter, then be sure to mention: @JABelfield so I can see your entry. And if you happen to stick it anywhere else, then be sure to forward a link to the post to j.a.belfield72 at gmail.com and include 'The Big Resonance Giveaway' in the subject line. 

2) Post a review for Blue Moon.
Obviously, I'd prefer amazing ones, but I get that my writing won't jive for everyone, so any review over 100 words will be accepted, even if it doesn't rave and include 4/5 stars. However, I will read each review carefully (because I always do), and ascertain that I believe the book has actually been read rather than a review being composed out of a rewrite of the blurb (yes, this does happen on occasion). 
Where you post your review is up to you. On Goodreads. Amazon. B&N. On your blog. Completely up to you. But the Rafflecopter form will have separate entry options for each of these places, and each one will be included as an entry toward the main prize.

Make sense?


So here's the Rafflecopter....

a Rafflecopter giveaway

1 comment:

  1. HUGE thanks, Danielle, for helping to kick-start the tour. <3