Blood Bound

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The train's brakes shot a thick jet of white steam into the freezing air. I stood waiting on the platform beside Kenilworth Station, fighting the urge to get back on the train. One look at the building made it clear to me that I, as a grad student on a tight budget, did not belong here. It was unlike any train station I had ever seen; a pristine stone structure with storybook charm and intricately crafted windows with leaded glass trim that gleamed in the pre-dawn darkness. A bitter blast of wind from Lake Michigan stung my face and slapped a street sign back and forth. I wrapped my old parka tighter around me. Looking at my worn jeans and sneakers, I felt out of place just standing outside on the passenger loading platform.

"Anyone meeting you here?" the porter asked as he emerged from the baggage compartment. He struggled with my oversized duffle bag and looked at me with a quizzical expression. "It's too cold to stand around out here. You should wait inside," he told me as he handed me the huge bundle.

"Thanks," I managed. "A car should be here soon." The sense that I should just go back to Joliet threatened to take over. It was no secret Kenilworth was well above my pay grade as a college student, with its multimillion-dollar homes and ultra-rich inhabitants with pedigrees. Sure, I would only be staying on for a year as a domestic staffer at the Blackwood Estate, but I somehow felt unworthy of even that. I couldn't back out now though, not really. Not if I wanted to finish my English degree. The money I would make working for the Blackwoods would more than pay for my final year of college tuition. I hoped to land a teaching job while working toward my PhD, which would be a welcome change from the odd jobs I'd filled for the temporary agency. I'd been a housekeeper, a nanny, a cable installer, and even a mortuary receptionist over the last few years, and I was really looking forward to the chance to do what I loved--teaching English.

The temp agency had some reservations about assigning me to this particular placement at the Blackwood estate because of my age. They had hoped for someone more mature to fill the position. The maturity part didn't worry me because I'd always been accused of being mentally older than my age. What concerned me was dealing with the world of the über-rich.

Though I knew very little about the Blackwoods personally, the agency had indicated the family was one of the wealthiest and most highly regarded families in Kenilworth. Blackwood Industries, the family business, dealt in large-scale civil and industrial engineering. Although I wasn't particularly interested in their business, I was thankful to have a job. Everything about working for a billionaire, however, was intimidating to a college student on her own.

Lugging my over-stuffed sack onto my back, I walked across the cobblestone platform and opened the door to the station. The large waiting area with a cavernous vaulted ceiling was deserted, except for a middle-aged woman in uniform working the ticket window. She suspiciously appraised me as if she had hung mental price tags on my clothes and found them to be of yard sale quality. "Did you miss your stop?" she mumbled, clearly unimpressed.

I looked at the floor. "No, I um ..." Suddenly, the zipper on my duffle burst apart, spewing my clothes onto the floor and sending my makeup bag sailing across the terrazzo, somehow spilling its contents in the process. I bounded after it with all the grace and agility one might expect from a book nerd with wet shoes sliding across a slick floor. The woman behind the counter rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

I dropped to my knees and grabbed the various bottles, compacts, and tubes of eyeliner and lip stick. I frantically stuffed my things back into the bag as fast as possible, feeling my already wind-burned cheeks growing hotter. My cell phone suddenly blared out in the stillness, making me jump. The very Kenilworth-inappropriate verse of a raucous rap riff bounced off the stone walls as I groped inside my purse trying to find the phone. Still shrieking, it slipped out of my frozen fingers, dropped to the floor, and slid across the slippery surface toward the door. I'd meant to change that ringtone. Looking over at the ticket clerk, I noticed she was shaking her head. She picked up a radio and mouthed something into it that looked like the word security. I quickly crawled over to my phone and answered. It was Margaret from the agency in her usual agitated state.