Page 95 of Cinderella and the Daddy

I take a deep breath and force a smile for Leo’s sake. “Let’s turn on your movie. We didn’t get to finish watching it.”

Leo looks at me, then Grigori.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m going to help Grigori and then we’ll have a snack and watch the movie together.”

It only takes thirty seconds to get the movie going, but every second I’m not tending to Grigori is another second he bleeds.

I grab the medical bag with shaking hands, forcing myself to focus on what needs to be done. "Grigori, roll onto your stomach. Now."

He looks at me like I've lost my mind. "I'm fine?—"

"Roll over," I snap, surprising myself with the authority in my voice. "I need to see the wound."

He complies with a grunt of pain, and I immediately see why he's trying to downplay his injury. The fabric of his pants is soaked through with blood, far more than any simple flesh wound would produce.

I grab the medical scissors from the kit and start cutting away the fabric around the wound. My hands are trembling, but I force them to steady. Leo needs to see me calm. Grigori needs me to be functional.

"Oh, shit," I whisper when I see the damage.

The bullet tore through the back of his thigh, ripping muscle and probably nicking an artery. Blood pools beneath him faster than it should, and his skin has taken on a grayish pallor that makes my stomach clench.

"This is not a flesh wound," I tell him, my voice tight. "You need a hospital. You need surgery."

"Not happening," he grits out. "Compound's under siege. No one's leaving."

I press gauze against the worst of the bleeding, but it's like trying to dam a river with tissue paper. The white fabric turns crimson almost immediately.

"I need more gauze," I mutter, digging through the medical supplies. "And pressure bandages. And probably a miracle."

My hands are covered in blood now. It's warm and sticky, and the metallic smell makes bile rise in my throat. I've never done anything like this before. I fix engines, not people. But Grigori's life is literally in my hands right now, and Leo is watching everything from across the room.

I grab another handful of gauze and press down harder, trying to ignore the way Grigori's breath hitches in pain. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I know this hurts, but I have to stop the bleeding."

"You're doing good," he manages, though his voice is getting weaker. "Just... keep pressure on it."

I do, but I can feel his blood seeping between my fingers despite my efforts. This is beyond anything I can handle with basic first aid. He needs real medical attention, the kind that comes with operating rooms and blood transfusions.

"Grigori," I say quietly, trying to keep the panic out of my voice for Leo's sake. "Stay with me, okay? Keep talking to me."

"Not going anywhere," he mumbles, but his eyes are starting to lose focus.

I look at my blood-covered hands and feel something break inside me. This man took a bullet protecting Leo and me. He carried us to safety even while bleeding out, and now he might die because I don't know how to save him.

“Clot—powder.” Grigori’s words are barely a breath.

“What?”

“Clot. Bandage.”

He tries to grab the bag. I pull it closer and dump the contents. Grigori’s fingers pull at a package.

I pick it up. “WoundStat.”

“Yes. Dump. Bandage.”

I quickly read the directions. Simple enough. I dump the powder in the wound. Grigori hisses.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.