Release Blitz: Fractured Mind (Fractured Boys #2) by Matthew Dante

 

Author Matthew Dante and Gay Book Promotions share new release info for dark thriller, Fractured Mind (Fractured Boys #2)! Read more today!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Fractured Mind

Author: Matthew Dante

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: The Ravens Touch 

Release Date:  November 18, 2021

Genre: M/M Thriller

Tropes: Obsessive love

Themes: Dark Romance, obsession, revenge

Heat Rating: 3 flames       

Length: 60 000 words/ 300 pages

It is the second book in the Fractured Boys series and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

There is nothing more dangerous than a man alone with his thoughts.

Blurb

People have been disappearing all across the State with no apparent connection to one another. Police are baffled and struggling to determine if the disappearances are connected or are simply isolated incidents. There are no bodies or evidence- only abandoned vehicles and missing persons reports. 

Meanwhile, Alex Sanders is battling his own demons... 

Almost a year after surviving a horrific weekend held captive by his former best friend, Marc, Alex is now a freshman at the University of Tennessee. Desperately trying to start over, he is consumed with depression, anxiety, and guilt for the murder that he helped cover up. Always fearful of being discovered, Alex can’t help but wonder, is Marc still secretly watching him? 

Could Marc's obsession with him have something to do with the current flood of disappearances across the State? 

All things seem to lead back to that fateful weekend… the one that started with murder … and ended in betrayal.


Warning: This book contains scenes which may be considered triggering events for some involving extreme violence, murder, kidnapping, and torture.

Excerpt 

Alex had never felt such excruciating pain! It was as if his shoulder was leaning against a furnace during a winter blizzard. His shoulder was on fire, and he began to see stars in front of his eyes. He wished for the pain to stop! Please, God, if you are watching, please make this pain stop! I’ll do anything you ask! I’m sorry I was not a better man! 

Perhaps this was karma finally catching up to him for the role he played in Shawn’s death. While Alex was not the one that ultimately ended Shawn’s life, he also did nothing to report the murder or try to find Marc and bring him to justice. 

Yes, Karma was finally here to collect.

The figure standing in front of Alex slowly began to turn the blade as blood and flesh began to tear aware from his body. 

Alex cried out again in pain as his tears mixed with the blood that now slid down his arm and onto the straws of hay that peppered the ground of the barn.

He deserved this. He watched a man die and remained silent. Alex was finally getting what he deserved. 

Alex’s cry of pain was cut short as his face was splashed with a warm liquid. He opened his eyes startled, just in time to watch his torturer fall to the ground with a thump. Puzzled, Alex looked up.

Standing in front of him, holding a blood-stained bat, was his demon savior… the man who had caused so much pain in his life… the man whom he once cared for deeply… Marc. 

“Marc?” Alex whispered, half in shock, half in disbelief. 

This had to be one of his hallucinations brought on by the pain he was enduring. There was no way that Marc was standing right in front of him. No way.

Marc dropped the bloody bat and pulled the butterfly blade from his back pocket. He knelt down and gently touched Alex’s tear-stained face. 

Alex felt a slight tingling sensation when Marc’s fingertips touched his face. It was as if a thousand little electric currents were running from Marc’s fingers to his cheek.   

Alex stared up into Marc’s soft brown eyes. There was so much emotion in those eyes; fear, anger, and a hint of something else… longing?? 

Staring into those eyes, Alex thought about the countless nights the two of them stayed up late chatting together. The days when it had just been the two of them, living in a simpler world. A world before all the pain, murder, and betrayal. 

Yes, Alex had broken Marc’s heart when he refused to help him deal with Shawn’s dead body- a murder Marc had committed in order to protect Alex. But being here now, staring into Alex’s soulful eyes, it seemed as though all that had been forgotten by Marc. Marc was staring at Alex with such loving eyes.  

“I’m here now. Everything will be okay, I promise,” Marc blurted as the anger seemed to melt from his eyes and was replaced with so much love. 

“Wh… what are you doing here?” Alex asked, still in shock that Marc was actually standing in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to get here,” Marc apologized, as he touched the side of Alex’s bloody face. 

Alex noticed the look of pain in Marc’s eyes as he wiped the blood from Alex’s face. 

“Marc… I can’t believe you’re… how…” Alex was at a loss for words. He could not believe that Marc was standing right in front of him. Coming to his rescue once again. After all that he had done. But how did Marc know?

The lights in the barn suddenly went black. 

About the Author 

Matthew Dante is a Canadian indie author who loves to write about magic, fantasy, and romance. He is an avid reader, world traveller, lover of all things Marvel and DC, and a romantic at heart. 

Most of his stories center around gay main characters who are usually the love interests and the heroes of these stories. He writes these novels, so that other LGBTQ people will be able to read about characters and stories that they can relate to and be proud of.

Social Media Links

Facebook   |   Instagram

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Giveaway + Release Blitz: Dinner at the Blue Moon Café by Rick R. Reed

 

Join author Rick R. Reed & IndiGo Promotions in celebrating the release of Dinner at the Blue Moon Café! Find out more about this paranormal romance, read an excerpt & enter in the giveaway for a $10 Ninestar Press credit too!

Title: Dinner at the Blue Moon Café

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 19, 2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 66700

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, chef, murders, werewolf, friendship, shifters, contemporary, Seattle, food, recipes

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Synopsis

A monster moves through the darkest night, lit only by the full moon, taking them, one by one, from Seattle’s gay gathering areas.

In an atmosphere of spine-tingling fear, Thad Matthews finds his first true love cooking in an Italian restaurant called The Blue Moon Cafe. Sam Lupino is everything Thad has ever hoped for in a man: virile, sexy as hell, kind, and…he can cook!

As the pair’s love heats up, so do the questions. Who is the killer preying on Seattle’s gay men? What secrets is Sam’s Sicilian family hiding? And, more important, why do Sam’s unexplained disappearances always coincide with the full moon?

When the secrets are finally revealed, is Thad and Sam’s love for one another strong enough to weather the horrific revelations revealed by the light of the full moon?

Excerpt

Dinner at the Blue Moon Café
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Music from his clock radio woke Thad Matthews at 6:00 a.m. The song, “Smokestack Lightning,” yanked him from a heavy, dream-laden sleep. Its energy forced his eyes open wider, caused synapses, eight hours dormant, to tingle, and made him want to move. Nonetheless, he slapped at the snooze button, silencing the bluesy wail, rolled over, and then pulled the comforter over his head. He was glad he had tuned his clock radio to KPLU, Seattle’s only all-blues all-the-time station, but he desperately wanted to recapture just a few more minutes of his dream, in which he’d found himself on the moors of England. All he could recall was that the moors themselves were appropriately fog shrouded and lit with a silvery luminance from above. Someone waited for him in the shadows and fog. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, know for certain if that someone meant to do him harm or meant to just do him.

He’d been having a lot of sexual dreams lately.

As much as he wanted to unravel the mystery of the dream—and to perhaps savor the vague sexual vibrations he was getting from it—sleep eluded him. He found thoughts of the day crowding in, preventing even the most remote possibility of a recurrence of slumber.

Thad sat up in the four-poster, rubbing his eyes like a little boy, and wondered why he bothered setting an alarm. He had no job to go to, no pressing engagements, no muse to answer to—hell, he didn’t even have an appointment for an oil change.

This day, like all his others, stretched out before him completely unmarred with obligations other than the requirements life imposed upon him, such as eating and going to the bathroom, which the erection poking up under his sheets compelled him to take care of. He called this morning wood a pee-on, because once he had put that particular need to rest, it most often subsided.

After stumbling to the adjoining bathroom and letting go with a flow that caused a mighty sigh of relief to issue forth from him, he thought once again that maybe today should be the day he looked harder into getting himself some employment—anything to put him into contact with other people and to fill his waking hours. Lord knew he filled out enough applications and answered enough Help Wanted ads on Craigslist to keep the officials down at unemployment sending him checks. But all his efforts, dishearteningly, were ignored.

It had been nearly four months since he had been laid off at Perk, the national chain of coffee shops headquartered in suburban Shoreline. Thad had been there for six years, in the marketing department, spending his days writing clever sayings for paper coffee cups and point-of-purchase signs for the stores. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it. And writing phrases like “Plan on Being Spontaneous” paid the bills, even if it didn’t provide much creative or intellectual challenge. It helped sell coffee, and Thad never kidded himself: that’s why he was employed there.

Except now they didn’t need him anymore. Who would write the signs for their special Iced Coffee blend?

He gazed down at the bubbling golden froth in the toilet and flushed it away, along with his thoughts about his former job. He turned and rinsed his hands under the sink, then splashed cold water on his face. Standing up straight, he stared at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

“You’re too young for a life of leisure,” he said to his reflection, rubbing his hands through his short, coarse red hair, which stuck up in a multitude of directions. People paid good money for products that would make their hair look as fetchingly disheveled as Thad’s did right now. He peered closer at himself, taking inventory of his pale skin, his gray eyes, and the constellation of freckles that spanned his nose and the tops of his cheeks. He flexed, thinking he was looking a little flabby around the middle.

“Workout day. I’ll head over to the gym today. I need it.” He sucked in his gut and let it out again, thinking it was empty and needed refilling. A Pagliacci delivery pizza only went so far. His slumber and active dream life, he supposed, had all but digested the pie.

Thad moved to the bedroom and began tossing pillows on the floor to make up his bed. He wasn’t sure why he bothered with this either, since it was unlikely anyone would see the military-neat bed except for him, when he would approach it once more this evening just to mess it all up again. But it was important to Thad to have a routine. Otherwise his days would blend into one meaningless chunk of time, formless, without definition or purpose.

It was becoming increasingly hard enough to distinguish Tuesday from Thursday—or Sunday, for that matter.

Back when he was putting in forty-plus hours a week, he envied the increasing number of friends and acquaintances who had gotten laid off during the economic downturn. The money they made on unemployment seemed like enough—at least for him and his modest lifestyle in his Green Lake studio apartment—and the freedom they had seemed worth the cut in pay.

But now he wasn’t so sure. The uncertainty of what would happen if he still wasn’t working when the unemployment checks dwindled down to zero hung over him like a vague threat. And the freedom wasn’t really so great, when that same threat prevented him from spending much money, lest he should need it down the road for luxuries like food and a roof over his head.

Worst of all was what the job loss had done to his self-esteem. Thad needed some meaning in his life, a purpose. That much had been instilled in him since he was a little boy, back in Chicago growing up in the working class neighborhood of Bridgeport, where his father was a cop and his mother waited tables at a Lithuanian restaurant.

He pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, padded out to the office area of his apartment, and plopped down in front of his laptop. He planned to check out the classifieds on Craigslist, then Monster, then CareerBuilder. When he was first laid off, he looked only at writing and editing jobs but had lately broadened his search to include, well, just about everything. Thad realized he would work retail, man a customer service phone line, groom dogs, or wait tables, as long as he had a job.

Yet the rest of the world hadn’t gotten wind of his eagerness to accept any kind of employment. Or if they had, they weren’t saying.

Before he went through the often-depressing ritual of cyber pavement pounding, he would check out what had happened in the world since he had stumbled in last night from an evening of self-consolation and vodka on Capitol Hill. He hit the little orange-and-blue Firefox icon on the dock at the bottom of his screen to bring up the day’s online news…

And was jolted right out of whatever sluggishness he was feeling. He stared at the lead article for that day’s Seattle Post-Intelligencer. A chill coursed through him, and he slowly shook his head as he read the details of that morning’s top story, titled “Brutal Slaying in Capitol Hill.” The article described how an as-yet-unidentified young man had been killed in an alley in the Seattle neighborhood known for its heavy concentration of gay bars and clubs. Thad had to stop reading for a moment to close his eyes because the gruesome details were simply too much to bear. His stomach churned. The man had not just been killed but had been literally ripped apart. Very little blood was found at the scene. And forensics had already determined that there was no trace of metal found on the victim’s flesh, which meant that the deed had to have been done with something other than a knife. The worst detail of all was the fact that the remains bore definite signs that much of the man’s flesh had been eaten. Authorities are keeping details to themselves regarding who—or what—the perpetrator could have been. The story closed with the usual cautions about what to do—don’t travel alone, avoid strangers and unlit places—when something so unsettling and violent occurs.

Thad exited Firefox sooner than he had planned and stared out the window. His heart thumped in his chest. Bile splashed at the back of his throat and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He had been in Capitol Hill the night before, having a dirty martini or three at Neighbours, one of the gay ghetto’s most popular hangouts. He wondered if, as he had made his way back to the bus stop, he had passed the killer or killers. If perhaps the killer or killers had eyed him, wondering if he would suffice for their demented purposes. He could see himself through their eyes, being watched from the shadows of a vestibule or an alley as he made his way back to the bus stop on Broadway. He wondered if he looked appetizing. He had been told on more than one occasion that he was “tasty” and “delicious,” but those doing the describing were not thinking of him as dinner—at least not in the conventional sense. He wondered if perhaps the only thing that had saved him was the coincidental passing of a boisterous group from the University of Washington, coming up alongside him just as the fiend in the dark was ready to pounce. He shivered. For once, rejection was a comforting thought.

Rejection, under these circumstances, was the new “getting lucky.”

Still, some poor soul had not been as lucky as he had, and today forensics was probably busy trying to figure out just who this unfortunate soul was. From what Thad had read, it didn’t sound like they had much to go on. Dental records, maybe? What kind of animal would not only kill a fellow human being but also eat his flesh and drink his blood? Was this a human being at all? Thad had heard of bears occasionally making their misguided ways down from the mountains and into Seattle, but they usually got no farther than suburban parks and backyards. And the “bears” that routinely cruised the Capitol Hill neighborhood were of a much more cuddly variety.

Surely, though, an animal couldn’t have been roaming around busy Capitol Hill on Friday night. The neighborhood, on weekend nights, was a blur of barhoppers and partiers, its hilly streets filled with people and cars jockeying for position. Loud and well lit, it was the kind of neighborhood that would scare the shit out of an animal, at least an animal with normal fears and inclinations. This had to be the work of a person, or people, right? And whoever was behind such a thing had to be majorly warped. Thad had a quick vision of pale-gray eyes and enormous canine teeth until he banished the imagery to the back of his brain, grateful for another kind of canine distraction.

That distraction had just sidled up beside Thad, her arrival signaled by a clicking of toenails on hardwood. Thad glanced down at his gray-and-white Chihuahua, Edith, staring up at him with her dark eyes. Her tongue stuck out one side of her mouth, giving her a both comical and wizened appearance. The dog was about a hundred years old, and Thad thought, for better or worse, she was his very best friend in the world. Edith got up on her hind legs to paw at Thad’s lap, indicating to him that he was not the only creature in the house that had to pee first thing in the morning.

Thad got up and, with Edith following impatiently behind, slid into flip-flops and grabbed her leash. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s take a little walk down to the lake, and then we’ll see about getting us both some breakfast.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love. 

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

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Review: Acsquidentally in Love (Sucker for Love Mysteries #1) by K.L. Hiers

Nothing brings two men—or one man and an ancient god—together like revenge.

Private investigator Sloane sacrificed his career in law enforcement in pursuit of his parents’ murderer. Like them, he is a follower of long-forgotten gods, practicing their magic and offering them his prayers… not that he’s ever gotten a response.

Until now.

Azaethoth the Lesser might be the patron of thieves and tricksters, but he takes care of his followers. He’s come to earth to avenge the killing of one of his favorites, and maybe charm the pants off the cute detective Fate has placed in his path. If he has his way, they’ll do much more than bring a killer to justice. In fact, he’s sure he’s found the man he’ll spend his immortal life with.

Sloane’s resolve is crumbling under Azaethoth’s surprising sweetness, and the tentacles he sometimes glimpses escaping the god’s mortal form set his imagination alight. But their investigation gets stranger and deadlier with every turn. To survive, they’ll need a little faith… and a lot of mystical firepower.

Tentacles! Tentacles! Tentacles!

Who's with me?

I know the tentacle lovers out there understand when the tentacles come a-callin' the lure is too great to resist. This was one of those times.

I'm glad I didn't too because this was cute and fluffy escapism with a healthy side of eroticism. There is a bit of mystery that drives the plot forward and makes for some hijinks and the occasional ghoul. Along the way Sloane and Loch become smitten with each other and Sloane discovers the joys of the tentacock.

Bottom line: it's a fun read. Sure, there's an abundance of exclaiming. Sure, there's some cheese especially from Loch. But it all adds to the charm of a tentacle romance based in some mythology that I'm *fairly certain* is a product of the author's mind, though admittedly I'm too lazy to actually look it up to be certain.

Who cares, though?

It was sexy, fun, lighthearted and a nice diversion so if any of the above appeals give it a try. You could discover you have a tentacle kink heretofore unknown to you.

Do it in the name of self-discovery!

A copy was provided in exchange for an honest review.

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Drifter by Eden Winters

Happy Release Day, Eden Winters! Drifter is out now and you can find out more about this contemporary romance through the IndiGo Promotions release blitz, read an excerpt & enter in the giveaway to win an e-copy of the book. (5 Winners!)

Title: Drifter

Author: Eden Winters

Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books

Release Date: 7/7/20

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 238

Genre: Romance, Contemporary, Rocker

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Synopsis

Some legends never die.

Killian Desmond met his end in the fiery
crash that killed his band, or so the newspapers say. Now a nameless drifter,
he plays one pick-up gig after another in a haze of pain and regret, moving on
the minute someone says, “You sound like that guy from Trickster.”

Getting outed cost Mike Rose his musical
family. A bassist without a band, he’ll play any kind of music to earn a
paycheck, but Trickster’s music provides light during the darkest moments of
his life.

A chance meeting brings together two
lost souls who spark enough heat to set their guitars on fire. Their chemistry,
both onstage and off, feels like something written in the words of a song and
gives them courage to face life again.

But to seize their future, they have to
confront their past.

Excerpt

The throbbing beat blended with screams
from the crowd; a crowd hidden by bright lights. Sweat and cologne and beer
filled Killian Desmond’s nose. Familiar sounds. Familiar scents.

Home.

Did he love this life or hate it? Who
cared, he’d never known another. Back to back with his brother Elliot, he
shredded his electric acoustic guitar, improvising for the fans. The strings
bent to his callused fingertips, note after note falling from his guitar.

Elliot kept up. Elliot always kept up.
Others might get lost in Killy’s musical fantasies, but El gauged Killy’s
intentions by the way he moved, held his shoulders, or gestures, like pausing
to flip his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes.

The drummer and keyboardist faded away,
letting El set the tone with a deep bass beat.

Killy strutted to the front of the
stage. Hot lights illuminated him from behind, shining on sweat-soaked skin.
“What you wanna hear?” He didn’t need the words to know they’d be sticking to
their prearranged lineup. At their manager’s urging, he’d saved the best for
last.

Highway!” roared through the arena.

He grinned and cupped a hand to one ear.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

Highway!” roughly six thousand voices
cried out in unison, louder this time.

“Aw, c’mon, now,” Killy teased. “We’ll
play whatever you want, but you gotta tell us.”

The thunderous chant of  “Highway!
Highway! Highway!” threatened to blow the roof off the building.

Strolling over a few paces and throwing
an arm around his brother, Killy said, “Well, I reckon we better do as they
say.”

“Since when have you ever taken orders?”
Elliot shot back.

Faster than most could follow, Killy
slung his guitar back into place and launched into their best-known riff.

The screaming nearly deafened him. He
tried again. On his sixth attempt the crowd settled enough to begin.

He grinned. Adoration and energy flowed
from the crowd, straight into his veins, to gather strength and escape through
his fingers and his voice.

His deep growl purred through the arena,
pouring out the melody he’d written in a single night in a hotel room God knew
where. High on life, cheap vodka, and the rush of their first big show, he’d
settled onto the bed in the dark, except for the flickering image of a black
and white movie on the TV, sound turned down, and began strumming.

The words flowed out of him unbidden,
leaving him raw, shaken, and in possession of a number one hit.

He didn’t sing or play Highway—the
melody made him its bitch, possessing him, demanding release into the world.

Who was he to refuse?

“Some were born to sand and wind, on the
sea they make their home

Some may live a hermit’s life, on a
mountain all alone

Or in a glass and metal cage, high up in
the sky

Packed in tight with a thousand souls,
all trying to get by

Nine to five may work for some, but that
don’t work for me

Saddled to day in day out, no, I need to
be free

Living a life all on my own, free of
family, lover or friend

On the highway I was born, it’s there
I’ll meet my end.”

Alone, just him and the highway, until
the chorus.

“On the highway I was born, it’s there
I’ll meet my end.”

Elliot’s sweet tenor wrapped around
Killy’s pack-a-day growl, blending together seamlessly.

The audience joined in, chanting,
“Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!”

Rob kept pace on the drums, a musician
not really worthy of the band they’d become, and Ace, a friend and one hell of
a musician, wound his way through the twists and turns on his keyboards.

“The only home I’ll ever know stretches
from sea to sea

No start, no end, no in between, just
miles of road and me

Living a life all on my own free of
family, lover or friend

On the highway I was born, it’s there
I’ll meet my end

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the
highway!

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the
highway!

Highway! Highway! Live and die on the
highway!”

The mass of humanity might have started
chanting again for all Killy knew. His world boiled down to this moment, the
music, his brother, his friend, and the life laid out for him long ago, the
first time his mother brought him and Elliot onstage.

They’d stayed. She’d gone.

Here they still stood, though she didn’t.

Never would again.

Nope, no bad thoughts. Just the music.

Note after note poured from him like
rain, blocking thought and feeling.

He crashed to his knees, striking a
chord and letting his guitar speak for him. Caught in the spotlight, he leaned
back in a signature move his manager made him practice, making his shirt ride
up to show some skin, while his hair fell back, glittering like gold in a
strategically placed spotlight.

The blue streak, his own addition,
voiced his defiance at being a commodity.

He should’ve been exhausted after the
show they’d put on, but in that moment, he swore he could go all night.

He jumped to his feet, racing across the
stage and running through part of the guitar solo for those seated to the left
of the stage, then reversed course to the right, repeating the solo.

Arms reached for him, a thousand voices
calling his name.

Rejoining Elliot centerstage, he
launched into the chorus and let the others join him.

After extending the song by two more
choruses, he finally wound down.

An announcer stepped up on stage, to
catcalls, whistles and ear-splitting shouts. “Let’s hear it for Trickster!”

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

 

You will know Eden Winters by her
distinctive white plumage and exuberant cry of “Hey, y’all!” in a Southern US
drawl so thick it renders even the simplest of words unrecognizable. Watch out,
she hugs!

Driven by insatiable curiosity, she
possibly holds the world’s record for curriculum changes to the point that
she’s never quite earned a degree but is a force to be reckoned with at Trivial
Pursuit.

She’s trudged down hallways with police
detectives, learned to disarm knife-wielding bad guys, and witnessed the
correct way to blow doors off buildings. Her e-mail contains various snippets
of forensic wisdom, such as “What would a dead body left in a Mexican drug
tunnel look like after six months?” In the process of her adventures she has
written twenty gay romance novels, has won Rainbow Awards, was a Lambda Awards
Finalist, and lives in terror of authorities showing up at her door to question
her Internet searches.

When not putting characters in dangerous
situations she’s a mild-mannered business executive, mother, grandmother,
vegetarian, and PFLAG activist.

Her natural habitats are airports,
coffee shops, and on the backs of motorcycles.

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