“Cal’s” face broke into a broad, wicked grin, exactly mirroring Conleth’s. In perfect unison, the pair high-fived each other.
“You admitted it!” Connor chortled. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, waggling it tauntingly. “And I recorded it.”
A rumbling growl reverberated through Rory’s chest. His hands fisted, but there was no way he could wrestle the device off Connor without causing an embarrassing scene. “I just said that it was more dangerous. That’s not the same as saying you damn idiots are braver.”
“It’s close enough,” Connor said, smirking. “I’m sure the rest of my crew will agree.”
Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Do I even want to ask how you got hold of Cal’s shirt?”
“That’s not my shirt,” a third voice snarled from behind him.
Rory turned. Callum—the real Callum—stalked up, his curling red hair mussed and his jaw clenched. A couple of grinning firefighters that Rory didn’t know trailed him. One of the men was shirtless.
Cal’s glare swept over his brothers and fellow firefighters alike. “For the last time, this is not funny.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Conleth said solemnly.
“It definitely isn’t,” Connor agreed.
There was a beat. A muscle ticked in Cal’s jaw.
“It’s bloody hilarious,” his brothers said together, and collapsed into laughter.
Cal’s shoulders fell in a long, heartfelt sigh as his colleagues roared with mirth as well. He turned to Rory, ignoring the whole lot of them with icy dignity. “You wanted to talk to me?”
With a twinge of unease, Rory realized that Connor’s impersonation of his brother had only been slightly exaggerated. There was a stiffness to Callum’s posture that hadn’t been there the last time Rory had seen him. Some joshing and teasing was inevitable on any fire crew…but there was a cruel edge to the laughter that had his griffin snarling in protective fury. He wanted to wade in with both fists, just like he had years ago: Leave him alone! Stop picking on him!
But Cal hadn’t appreciated it when he’d been nine. He really wouldn’t appreciate Rory trying to play the white knight now. Rory drew in a ragged breath, forcing his hands to uncurl.
Wystan appearing at his shoulder was a welcome distraction. The unicorn shifter cast a glance over the scene, not looking the least surprised by either the still-chortling Connor or any of the smirking firefighters. He turned to Cal. “So, are you in?”
Cal’s eyes narrowed. “In what?”
“Run while you can, Cal,” Joe said from behind Wystan. Even slouching disconsolately, he was still a good six inches taller than the rest of them. “Rory wants to offer you a job.”
Cal digested this. “Somewhere that isn’t here?”
“A very long way from here,” Rory said. “It’s-“
“Yes,” Cal interrupted.
“But I haven’t told you-“
“Yes,” Cal repeated, in tones of utter finality.
“All right then.” Rory clapped him on the shoulder, which the pegasus shifter bore with stoic resignation. “Three down, one to go.”
“One more?” Wystan raised an eyebrow. “But that would only make five. I thought you said there were six on a squad.”
“There are.” Rory beckoned them all to follow him. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Wystan looked around the cellar. “You want us to meet…beer barrels?”
“I like this plan.” Joe clapped his hands together, beaming. “Never met a beer barrel that wasn’t excellent company. Are we here to get staggeringly drunk and bond in manly fashion? Can I build a sweat lodge?”
Cal shot him a sardonic look. “Do you know how to build a sweat lodge?”
“Actually, yes,” Joe said cheerfully. “I’m also good at blanket forts. And igloos.”