Glory and Gore

The Boy In The Photos

"I'm sorry," He muttered, and there was a catch in his throat that Lucy didn't understand.

Lucy looked at him, big brown eyes confused. "Sorry?" She questioned. "For what?"

His eyes were dark, something troubling him behind them. His expression was frightening. "For doing that in front of you."

Lucy blinked. "Doing what?" She narrowed her eyes. "For protecting me?"

That word seemed to surprise him; his eyebrows shot up for a split second before he suffocating the emotions on his face. His eyes, though, gave it all away—shock, fear, anger at the prospect of him protecting her. He looked like he wanted to reply, say something to her about it—but he bit his tongue, held himself back. When he finally spoke, his voice was void of emotion. "You're afraid of me."

She searched his face, wishing he hadn't hid his emotions away. She wanted to know what he was thinking, the implications behind such a statement. Did he want her to be afraid? Or did it anger him?

"I'm not scared of you," Lucy spoke, but the words came out as a little whisper.

Salamander turned his head, glancing down at her. "Liar."

"I'm not," She insisted stubbornly. "I'm not scared of you. Just what you're capable of."

"What's the difference?"

Lucy frowned, pondering that. The difference...well, she supposed that he was right—there wasn't really a difference. He was capable of murder—that made him a killer. But there was something incredibly human about him. She could see it in his eyes, sense it in every trigger pull. Something delicate that he was trying to bury.

When Lucy struggled to find a response, Salamander let out a heavy breath. He touched his lip; it was beginning to swell where the intruder had punched him. His nose crinkled in annoyance at the sting.

A head poked out from the door; it was Gajeel. He'd left after Salamander's fight to speak with the Drache to find their next orders. "It's a go," He spoke. "Out in five." He ducked back into the house, disappearing just as quickly as he had arrived.

"Come on," He urged, voice gravelly. "We've got things to do."

Lucy frowned as he side-stepped her, turning to follow him. He opened the large door to the mansion, holding it behind him for Lucy; she jogged slightly to catch up, letting the door fall shut behind her. "Where are we going?"

"My room."

Lucy's body tensed up, unsure if there were any implications in his words. "Why?"

He seemed to pick up on her anxiety, and a smirk flickered onto his lips. He was amused—but there was that strange glimmer of darkness in his eyes, a look that made Lucy question how happy he really was. "Relax. We've got to grab some stuff."

Men were running around the mansion, shouting orders at one another; everyone was in a rush, carrying things, belting out instructions to other men. Lucy frowned, watching as the man frantically ran past the pair. Salamander didn't seem as worried; his pace was gentle, not rushed. He let the others fly past them without a word.

Lucy followed him, wanting to ask questions—but she knew this wasn't the time to do it. She was well aware that Salamander was willing to explain things to her—but he wouldn't, not here, not now. Not when the other members of the brotherhood could overhear.

He lead her through the mansion, taking her through magnificent twisting hallways and beautiful, stunning rooms; they made their way up several stories, heading up a few levels. He took her down a hallway, and Lucy realized she'd been here before. To her right, on the wall, was the photo she'd first noticed when she'd woken up.