Kill Me

By: Alex Owens

Blood Chord Novel #1



Thirty-something Claire is normal to the point of boring. She has a child, a husband who’s leaving her and a decent job as a PR rep for a boutique firm. While at a music industry convention for work, Claire’s life goes from status-quo to Oh, no! when she meets Bette, a sultry Italian woman with a haunted violin; an instrument that can only be played by the supernaturally gifted. Bette, a vampire with an eye on Claire’s untapped talents, tries to turn her into one of the undead.

Only it doesn’t appear to have worked, at least not one-hundred percent.

While figuring out what fate has planned for her, Claire must also create a marketing campaign off-the-cuff for a Girl-centric guitar company, survive her first strip club visit, and fake being a violin virtuoso in front of thousands. She turns to Bette and her Vampy-friends for help, but trusting them with her life may not be the smartest decision she’s ever made.





Chapter 1

I knew that I was dreaming; stuck in an alternate reality that was both creepy and confining, like one of those freaky rubber body-suits. I also knew that I couldn’t wake from the dream on my own. That loss of control spooked me every time. When I was finally able to wake, I’d be breathing hard, soaking wet and pissed that it had happened again. For the next little while, I was trapped in a stark white room with no windows or doors. A single bare bulb hung over a glass table and cast hard, angular shadows against the bright walls, even though there was no other furniture in the room to impede the light. Logically, it didn’t make sense, but my dreams rarely do.

I thought myself alone, but that didn’t last long. Like sinister holograms, three figures flickered around the table, seated in newly-materialized chairs. A fourth chair appeared as they looked in my direction with blank faces. A woman and two men waited. And then I heard the loveliest voice inside my head.

“Finally, you’ve come,” she said. It was the woman speaking, but her lips had not moved, nor had her expression changed. They didn’t seem to see me. More like they felt my presence in the room with them.

I tried to focus on their faces, to see if I recognized them, but the dream wavered whenever I concentrated on the details. Experience had taught me not to push it or I’d just find myself starting over inside of a whole new nightmare.

I’d learned that lesson the hard way, my stubborn streak once trapping me in dream after dream after dream for more than twenty-four hours. My husband had been on the verge of calling an ambulance when I’d finally sat up and asked him what we were having for breakfast. That was back when he actually cared enough to worry about me.

“Sit,” a male voice said.

I considered the request. In my dreams I’d never tried to do something. Usually I was just an observer. With feet that felt too light, I joined the group at the table. Now for the moment of truth- if I tried to pull out the only empty chair, would I be able to? Or would my solid looking hand pass right through it?

I stretched out my hand and the chair slid back from the table with a loud scrape before I ever made contact.

Interesting. Had I moved it with my mind? There was no way to know. I touched the chair and it felt solid enough. I took a seat at the table (without falling) and focused on the others.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for someone like you,” the female said.

“What?” I responded, unsure if I’d spoken the words or merely thought them, not that it mattered.

The three mysterious figures nodded to each other, but did not speak.

“What do you mean someone like me?” I started to rise from my chair, fear settling in my gut when I realized that I could not stand. My limbs felt weighted down.

One of the men spoke after several long seconds. “You are very special, though you do not know it yet.”

I frowned. There was nothing special about me, that I was sure of. I was the most boringly-normal harried housewife this side of the Mississippi. And I had the empty bank account and apathetic husband to prove it.

“She does not believe,” the other, deeper male voice said.

“Well then, she will have to be shown the way.”

I was rendered mute by the conversation of the strangers. They were talking about me, but none of it made sense.