Tacit Resonances: Viktor A. King Anna, #1

By Viktor A. King

In "Tacit Resonances" by Viktor A. King, the tranquil facade of a quaint English moorland town conceals dark secrets that lurk beneath the surface. Dr. Henry, a respected physician in this idyllic community, has a peculiar penchant for seducing the women who cross his path, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. But when he encounters Anna, a captivating and enigmatic Italian entrepreneur, his life takes a haunting turn.

Their passionate and tumultuous affair seems to transcend the ordinary, drawing them into a whirlwind of desire and intrigue. Yet, as the flames of their relationship burn brighter, a chilling truth emerges from the depths of Henry's own countryside estate. In the eerie confines of the country house's cellar, buried secrets resurface, revealing a malevolent force that has long been dormant.

As the horrors of the past resurface, Henry and Anna find themselves ensnared in a web of unspeakable terror and dark revelations. "Tacit Resonances" is a gripping and spine-tingling tale of forbidden love, supernatural forces, and the relentless pursuit of truth.

In the eagerly awaited sequel, "Black White Red Bloom," Viktor A. King delves even deeper into the enigmatic world he has crafted. As Henry and Anna's journey continues, they are faced with a series of chilling and seemingly impossible challenges that threaten to consume them. The darkness that once lay dormant has returned with a vengeance, and their love will be put to the ultimate test.

With each page, readers will be drawn further into a realm of unrelenting suspense, where the line between reality and the supernatural blurs, and the past casts a long and sinister shadow. "Tacit Resonances" and its sequel "Black White Red Bloom" together form an unforgettable and haunting duology that will linger in your thoughts long after you've turned the final page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Viktor A. King
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223469117

Book preview

LIFE OF STAR ®

A.V. Italia S.r.l. Group

VAT number 03624001206

COPYRIGHT VIKTOR . KING ©

PUBLISHED AUGUST 14, 2021, BOLOGNA

This novel is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and events are either figments of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to real places or events or people who really exist or have existed is unintentional and purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this volume may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, disk or otherwise, including film, radio, television, without written permission from the Publisher.

Reproduction for professional, economic or commercial purposes or in any case for use other than personal use may be carried out following specific authorisation issued by,

LIFE OF STARS

A.V. Italia S.r.l. Group

VAT number 03624001206

August 6, 2021

TACIT RESONANCES

VIKTOR A. KING

PREFACE

An extraordinarily multifaceted author, she writes romance with the rawness of pulp fiction, she evokes Lansdale and echoes King, and she invents, invents without the timidity of an inexperienced writer.

Prepare to be astonished as she freezes your thoughts, and you will come to understand the breath-catching fear that will grip you as you turn these pages. It's a concentrated dose of adrenaline, suspense, and plot twists. Real ones, delivered with precision, akin to the punches of the main character. You might find yourself wishing you hadn't read it because the insidious doubt that the same events could happen to you in an ordinary town will sneak up on you. It slinks, sharp and grimy, the thought that you are a mere speck in the path of a relentless destiny.

This is what befalls the characters in Tacit Resonances – career women turned into spirits, wrestling champions, young avenging heroines, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is as it seems. Everything is uncovered, and what initially appeared to be a tough exterior of a novel transforms into a rhythmic thriller, presented in Times New Roman font, pulsing with incendiary content.

A word of advice: if you tend to be anxious or easily impressionable, perhaps switch to your usual Friends series and forget about Tacit Resonances.

CHAPTER ONE

"Enough with the tedious moralizing! I prefer a man with confidence! And spare me your usual offensive stories... it baffles me why, at my age, I shouldn't wear skirts or reveal some cleavage.

And I see no reason why you shouldn't do the same: a balanced diet, a skilled hairdresser, a manicure, and a stylish dress, and I'm sure you'd seal deals as effortlessly as I do. Now, go on. I'll expect you tomorrow with the sales report, and it better make sense for me to listen to you."

I had raised my voice; these recent graduates, still wet behind the ears, wanted me to comprehend that selling my product was complicated, that achieving market prices and adhering to the business plan we had presented in January was a challenge.

Complicated, unless you presented yourself to the clientele in a model-like outfit, or in simpler terms, a seductive guise, as I would put it.

I didn't feel like a model or a seductress in Valentino's satin jacket-pants suit. The issue lay beneath the surface... underneath the jacket was a lovely black La Perla lace negligee, and my ample bosom, dazzlingly white, seemed to mock the translucent prudes.

I made them uncomfortable.

I remained fiercely faithful to reality, to the truth.

In my value system, truth was symbolized by the gentle scent of wisteria in bloom, as comforting as a timeless tunnel of fragrance where time itself paused and wandered off course.

I relished being provocative and rebellious. I knew my success was attributed to the beauty and sensuality that men yearned to possess. It was about the idea of me, long tanned legs with ankles as slender as a London motorway lane leading to Yorkshire, artfully traversing grassy green hills, adorned with ever-present Louboutins, like tantalizing question marks. Do you find me attractive? Do you desire me?

Why conceal oneself behind prudish attire and hide, when society revealed our true intentions: to possess, to touch, to measure inches of bare skin on the exquisite silk sheets before intimacy.

Everything ultimately funneled there, like a voracious or insatiable whirlwind, advertising, thoughts, fashion, commerce, values.

Indulge in sex.

Have plenty of it and of excellent quality.

I had grasped this at a young age and had elevated it to an art form.

I sold beauty products.

I sold them to everyone, through any means available.

I wasn't a speaker, I lacked formal education, and my cultural knowledge was average, modestly provincial.

Yet I was relevant in this era because I was beautiful.

I had always been beautiful.

Beautiful and sensual.

And men desired me.

They wanted me by their side to flaunt, in bed to flatter, and in business to exploit my ultimate asset.

Utilizing beauty was perhaps my greatest form of intelligence.

So, maybe I had a talent after all.

A talent for authenticity. Reality unveiled itself to me in its purest form.

I discerned victory in the eyes of men and capitalized on it.

Why regret it?

I was content and prosperous.

By the time I turned forty-five, I could boast a well-capitalized company.

I traded in body products, makeup, and haircare items sold worldwide, and perhaps I considered going public and establishing a holding company.

She was the majority shareholder and the founder. Every decision necessitated my approval.

To reach my office on the Champs Elysees in Paris, I had enticed and charmed, conspired and manipulated like the best of them – Brutus, Cassius, Judas.

Only the right individuals.

Those who made me powerful in gratitude.

I was Italian. Arriving in Paris to promote yet another mass-market perfume, I immediately caught the eye due to my amber complexion, raven hair, and eyes.

Certainly, hair, eyes, and breasts were not rarities in the fashion industry.

But the eyes were different.

They plunged you into a liquid realm of sea and sky, burnt and salted, impoverished and soiled.

From poverty, you emerged in serene waters of vengeance and passion, of dreams and aspirations. You arose from the fires and grit born out of poverty and desolation.

A product of the repetition of identical scents, identical flavors that extinguished ideas, eliminated opportunities.

Yet her chance was present. In the blue of her eyes. In the black of her hair. In the scent of skin bronzed and salted by sweat and the scorching heat of her Italy.

And from that faint citrus aroma that welcomed you in the stony fields.

From the love that always beckoned her back to her homeland.

My name was Anna. I preferred to pronounce it in Italian, dragging out the consonants, elongating the palindrome of a name, then abruptly truncating it as if on a sheer cliff overlooking the eccentric waters of the Apulian coast. Anna, and away we went – a pirouette dive from a moderate hill, stones between our toes soaring through the air, propelled by the momentum of the leap, as we tucked our arms and legs. The world spun and spun, sky and sea, sea and sky, until Anna sliced through the saline, foamy, invigorating water, consuming it all and exhaling a long, refreshing, and invigorating breath.

Anna, as the villagers called her, her name echoing loudly, inviting the stunning woman to stroll through the narrow