Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me.
Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot soup that had just been set on the table.
The heat hit me instantly.
The soup wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. At least sixty degrees, maybe more. The broth soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like an electric current.
My entire body jerked.
A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.
The pain was unbearable.
It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. A Don's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate.
"Elena, what is wrong with you?" Salvatore hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson."
My vision blurred slightly from the pain.
Still, I looked up at him.
"Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached.
I already knew the answer.
But I still asked.
Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet.