Page 118 of Knotting the Firefighters

Calder's smirk is absolutely shameless, zero guilt evident in his expression.

"Yep." The single syllable carries far too much satisfaction. "Marked me, took my knot, created a permanent bond that's currently connecting all five of us, whether we planned it or not."

Five.

He said five.

Which means?—

My gaze whips toward the other occupants of my living room—Bear leaning against the wall with barely suppressed amusement, Silas occupying the armchair with medical professional composure, and Aidric glowering from his position near the window like he's planning multiple murders and trying to decide which victim gets priority.

They're all here.

All connected.

All part of whatever catastrophic bonding situation I apparently created.

"This is—" My hands flutter uselessly, searching for words adequate to describe the magnitude of this disaster. "This is not temporary! This is permanent! This is exactly what we were trying to avoid!"

I realize belatedly that I'm wearing clothes that definitely aren't mine—an oversized shirt that smells overwhelmingly of Calder, shorts that are simultaneously too big and barely covering anything.

When did I change?

Who dressed me?

Why am I wearing Calder's clothes like we're in some domestic relationship comedy?

"Whose clothes are these?" I demand, tugging at the shirt hem with indignation I don't quite feel.

Calder's grin widens—absolutely unrepentant about clothing theft or whatever sequence of events led to me wearing his shirt.

"Mine. You looked cold and your clothes were—" He pauses delicately. "—compromised. Figured you'd prefer my shirt over being naked."

Compromised.

My clothes were compromised.

Which means?—

Don't think about what that means.

Absolutely do not replay whatever activities led to clothing destruction.

I begin pacing—nervous energy demanding an outlet, body refusing to remain stationary while my brain attempts to process information that feels impossible despite apparently being factual.

"We can't be bonded!" The words tumble out rapid-fire, panic overriding coherence. "What happens to the temporary arrangement? The three-month trial period? The part where this was supposed to be reversible?"

My feet carry me back and forth across the limited floor space, movements jerky with agitation.

"How are we supposed to work together? What if I get offered the chief position?" I pause mid-stride, wheeling toward Aidric to point at him with similar accusatory energy I'd directed at Calder. "When the stubborn Alpha over there—yes, I'm talking aboutyou—wants the same position, how does that work?"

Aidric's glare intensifies, storm-gray eyes promising violence if I don't stop gesturing at him.

I ignore his silent threats, resuming pacing with renewed vigor.

"I still have to run the ranch—Willa trusted me with that responsibility, and I can't abandon it just because my personal life imploded into complicated pack dynamics. And there's the investigation! Gregory is still out there, probably planning his next attempt to murder me, and now I've potentially put four Alphas in his crosshairs because pack bonds make everyone targets!"

My voice rises with each point, spiraling toward a full panic attack.