Lone Wolf of Saturnine

A Fine Night For It

Irene squeezed Charles' hands and gazed into his steady, sincere brown eyes. As she did so, she felt herself growing overcome with emotion at his offer of help. It had been several years since she'd relied on anyone else so she was performing quite the leap of faith.

After all, she hardly knew Charles, having only been acquainted with him for the last six months. While nothing in his nature had given her any impression she couldn't trust him, it did startle her how quickly she'd said yes to his offer. She should be full of hesitation.

She hadn't entirely given all, as she hadn't told Charles anything of what she faced. On that, she wasn't yet convinced she should. He couldn't remain in the dark forever, but she didn't know the first place to start with her past.

"Follow me," Charles said suddenly, releasing one of her hands in order to lead her with the other. They left the alleyway and came out on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Campbell's funeral parlor.

Charles continued, tugging on her hand and pulling her down the street. she felt herself grow warm at the continued contact of his hand calloused and firm in hers. The last time their fingers had been entwined, she'd been writhing beneath him, crying out with pleasure at his unhurried and deliberate thrusts.

Irene's cheeks burned hotly, unbelieving at the turn of her thoughts. As for Charles, he seemed completely unaffected and unaware of her sudden lustful mind. As they walked, his eyes scouted the area in purposeful sweeps, intent on his mission to look out for her. She didn't believe Hahn would follow her, not after his ultimatum. Then again, neither had she expected him to be persistent on his hunt for her.

Irene had little time to dwell on Hahn's intentions (or memories of her unforgettable night with Charles for that matter) as she had to focus on keeping up with Charles' long strides. She lifted her skirts with her free hand and gripped Charles' hand tightly. He cut left down another alley and they entered a courtyard similar to the one outside of her apartment. She followed him up a set of stairs to a white door on the backside and above Esmonde's Restaurant and Tavern.

Charles unlocked the second door and it wasn't until that moment that Irene realized he was taking her to his apartment. She somehow flushed further as he swung open the door and ushered her in.

They'd spent a night together, one where they'd been undressed and uncovered under each other's eyes, so she shouldn't feel self-conscious being alone with him in a room. But this felt more intimate in the light of day, when she wasn't impulsively inviting him in for a last chance fling before she left everything behind.

More than a little curious, she swept her eyes across the room. She'd never thought she'd get this opportunity. She may learn something more about the man who kept everything about himself so close to his chest. Her first pass over the room, and she thought she may remain in the dark a little bit longer.

There was little furniture, not even a chair and table near the kitchen wall like in her apartment. There were a few canned goods in a cabinet on one side of the room. The walls were bare, the wallpaper drooping in some spots. The most indication that anyone lived here at all were the blankets on the bed, a trunk at the end of it, and a framed photograph on the bedside table.

It looked like a place where he kept his things, but not one he had gained any attachment. She couldn't help but comment, "You live so...sparsely."

Charles stopped in the middle of the room, his gaze roving around as if to take it all in with a fresh set of eyes. "It serves its purpose, and I've lived in worse."

She thought she caught the hint of a defensive tone in his voice so she added quickly, "I didn't mean to offend you, Charles."

She was most drawn in by the photograph on his bedside and let it beckon her nearer. Inside the oval frame was a young family, a man with Charles' likeness stood with pride beside a woman with twin braids and a beaded headband. In her arms sat a child dressed in his Sunday best, including the most darling little cap. Even though the child in the photograph was just a baby, Irene recognized the solemn expression and she smiled at it.