The Vixen’s Deceit – Peculiar Tastes Read Online Nikki Sloane

Categories Genre: Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
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With everything I’d gone through so far, why was this so scary?

The elevator jolted to a stop. Fucking hell, I’d wasted too much time working up the nerve, and now the opportunity had passed me by.

She rested a hand on the lever but, like last time, didn’t open the door right away. Instead, she pressed her lips together. “You should know, you’re doing awesome. A lot of people don’t even make it this far.”

I exhaled, trying to dispel my disappointment with myself. “Thanks.”

She leaned close and dropped her voice low, sharing a secret. “Hey, stick with it, and you’ll see me again. You got this, Tyler.” She peered at me with her gorgeous brown eyes and a hopeful smile. “I’m rooting for you.”

It was so nice hearing her say my name, it barely registered when she activated the elevator door and it squealed open. I stood motionless as she pulled the gate back, straightened, and then gestured to the waiting hallway.

I nodded and stepped out of the elevator with new motivation. The sooner I got done, the sooner I could get back to her.

Black ropes hung from stanchions and sectioned off the castle hallway, creating a path like this was an exhibit. I walked past oil paintings and suits of armor, following the rope down the hall to an open doorway.

It might have been a bedroom once, but it was mostly bare now.

The stone walls were undecorated, other than a small high window. There was an ugly dim lamp with no lampshade on the floor, faintly casting a greenish-blue light up into the room. My attention went to the back wall, where four fat and mismatched tube televisions were stacked haphazardly in a square.

Facing them was a rusty swivel chair in the center of the room.

My gaze flicked back to the TV screens. Static played on all four, but intermittently one would flash a message.

Sit down.

The metal chair creaked as I did.

One of the screens flickered and began to play a video, but the short clip only lasted a few seconds before jumping to another screen. It appeared to be from a closed-circuit, all grainy green and black and shot from a high angle.

The first clip was of an older woman, maybe in her fifties, in dark pants and a T-shirt. She glanced upward, and her eerie night-vision-glowing eyes found the camera, seemingly staring at me for a moment. The room she was in was crowded, and I leaned forward in my chair, trying to make out exactly what I was seeing.

Were those bodies?

And . . . were they hanging from hooks?

The video jumped to a new screen. In this clip, the woman seemed to be searching the bodies. Her hands dove into their pockets, looking for something. The clip shifted again to a different TV. Now the woman was sloshing around in ankle-deep water, and panic was visible on her face.

The clips came faster and shorter, bouncing from screen to screen.

The water was at mid-thigh. Then waist-deep, making it harder for her to move around. By the time it was to her shoulders, she was terrified and had apparently abandoned her search. Instead, she was at the watertight door, pounding her fists on it and begging to be let out.

My pulse sped as I watched her struggle to keep her head above water, gasping and gurgling.

“I give up,” she yelled. “Safety.” Her head disappeared under the water, only for her to reemerge and sputter a moment later. “Mercy. Please.”

The video flickered onto another screen, this time showing the woman floating facedown on the surface, no longer moving. It was all an act, it had to be, but a chill washed down my back anyway.

What the fuck?

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand landed on my shoulder and spun my chair around. It brought me face-to-face with the same white-robed figures from the chapel, the monks in their tattered shrouds.

Had I been so engrossed in the video, I hadn’t heard them come in?

The one closest to me leaned down to match my eyeline, giving me a good look at his sneering expression. “You’re full of evil.” When that didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he cocked his head. “Don’t believe me? We can prove it.”

He spun my chair again, returning it to face the bank of TVs. They were full of static, but like last time, one of them jumped to life with video.

This one was in color, and I recognized it immediately. I watched as the bartender dropped a red-and-yellow pill into a shot glass and how I picked it up and quickly downed it. It was surreal to watch myself under surveillance.

I sucked in a breath when a new screen started up. Me, tied to the chopping block, screaming over and over how I wanted to be the vessel.



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