Chapter 30
Sweet Mornings And Strategic Moves
~ADRIAN~
"Ja, ich verstehe. Aber ich brauche diese Informationen diskret gesammelt."
The German flows naturally as I speak into my phone, cradled between my shoulder and ear while my hands work pancake batter in a mixing bowl.
Early morning sunlight streams through the kitchen windows of the Thorne compound's residential wing, catching on stainless steel appliances in ways that make everything gleam.
I'm wearing pajama pants—expensive silk that probably cost more than reasonable—and nothing else. Just finished my morning workout and shower routine, and I haven't bothered with a shirt yet because there's no one awake to see me shirtless in the kitchen at six-thirty in the morning.
Or so I thought.
"Yes, I understand you need more context," I continue in German, switching hands on the phone so I can pour batter onto the preheated griddle.
The sizzle is satisfying, familiar. "But when it comes to monitoring media coverage and gathering intelligence, I need you to start with complete discretion.
Everything related to our team, our Omega, the competition. "
"Und Richard Pemberton?" my contact asks, voice crackling slightly through the international connection. "You want surveillance on your own team manager?"
"Especially Richard," I confirm, watching bubbles form in the pancake batter. "I know it seems obvious that he could be a threat—his history in other Formula One competitions shows patterns of... flexible loyalty. But that's exactly why we need concrete evidence."
My contact—Klaus, one of my family's most reliable security consultants based in Munich—makes a thoughtful sound.
"Isn't that rather obvious that Richard could be a threat with what happened in the past?
The Silverstone incident, the data leak at Monza, that business with the McLaren team three years ago? "
"Genau." I flip the pancake with practiced precision. "Exactly. But inevitably, if he's being bribed or compromised, how would we know? The man's intelligent enough to cover his tracks when he wants to."
I pause, considering my words carefully even though this line is encrypted.
"When it comes to Aurora, all bets are off," I say quietly, switching back to English.
"I'm protecting her with any resource at my disposal.
I don't want to leave any corner unturned when it comes to potential threats.
So gather evidence, monitor patterns, but don't interfere until I order you to. Understand?"
"Verstanden. I'll have preliminary reports by end of week."
I hear shuffling in the hallway outside the kitchen—soft footsteps, the particular sound of someone moving while half-asleep.
"I'll reach out another time," I say quickly. "Secure the line."
"Natürlich. Auf Wiedersehen, Adrian."
I hang up just as I flip the pancake, timing perfect enough that nothing burns.
Then Aurora shuffles into the kitchen, and my heart does something complicated in my chest.
She looks absolutely adorable.
Sleep-mussed and confused, wearing what appears to be one of Elias's oversized t-shirts as a nightshirt and a pair of shorts that are barely visible under the hem. Her short blonde hair sticks up in seventeen different directions, and she's rubbing at her eyes with one hand like a sleepy child.
Shadow—our newly named kitten—sits perched on her shoulder with perfect balance, tail curled around the back of Aurora's neck like a living scarf. The kitten looks wide awake and pleased with herself, purring loudly enough that I can hear it from across the kitchen.
Aurora just stands there in the doorway.
Not quite in the kitchen, not quite in the hall.
Just...existing in the space between, looking almost confused about where she is or how she got here.
Her scent is different like this—unguarded, without the suppressants she usually maintains during work hours. Sweet vanilla and smoke, mixing with something uniquely her that makes my Alpha instincts purr with satisfaction.
I can't help myself.
"Aurora?" I keep my voice soft, gentle, not wanting to startle her.
She blinks slowly at me, those storm-green eyes struggling to focus. Her expression is so confused, so utterly lost, that I realize she might not be fully awake. Sleepwalking, maybe, or caught in that space between dreams and consciousness where the world doesn't quite make sense yet.
I can't waste this opportunity.
I open one arm, the universal gesture of invitation. "Come here, Liebling."
The German endearment slips out naturally, and I watch her process it with delayed comprehension.
Her lips pout—pink, soft, and absolutely devastating—and then she's shuffling toward me with the kind of trust that makes my chest tight.
She doesn't question it.
Doesn't hesitate or calculate or maintain any of the careful distance she usually keeps when we're in semi-public spaces.
Just moves into my offered embrace like it's the most natural thing in the world.
The moment she's close enough, I wrap my arm around her, pulling her gently against my chest. She fits perfectly, her head tucking under my chin, her smaller frame melding against mine with the kind of compatibility that's both biological and emotional.
Shadow meows softly from her perch on Aurora's shoulder but doesn't move, apparently content to remain where she is.
I smile, letting my free hand come up to stroke Aurora's hair in soothing motions. She's still half-asleep, not really aware that she's not dreaming. Her body is completely relaxed against mine, trusting in ways she probably wouldn't allow if she were fully conscious.
The pancakes can wait.
I reach behind me and turn off the stove, prioritizing this moment over breakfast preparation. Because Aurora is in my arms, vulnerable and trusting, and nothing is more important than that.
I hold her gently, breathing in her scent while my Alpha instincts practically sing with satisfaction. This is what pack is supposed to feel like. This quiet intimacy, this unguarded trust, this sense of rightness that transcends logic or strategy.
Her breathing evens out, becoming deeper and more rhythmic.
She's falling asleep again, standing in my arms in the kitchen.
I can't help but smirk at the absolute trust that represents. To be so comfortable, so safe in my presence that she can literally fall asleep while standing.
Moving carefully so as not to disturb her or dislodge Shadow, I shift my grip and lift Aurora into my arms properly. She makes a small sound of protest but doesn't wake, just curls into my chest like it's the most comfortable pillow she's ever encountered.
I carry her to the living room, settling onto the large sectional couch with Aurora in my lap. She immediately burrows closer, seeking warmth and contact with the single-minded purpose of someone who's completely unconscious.
Shadow hops down from Aurora's shoulder and relocates to the back of the couch, apparently deciding that Aurora's new position doesn't provide adequate perching space.
I let Aurora sleep, one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her secure, the other hand free to pull out my phone and continue working.
Because unlike my packmates, I'm capable of multitasking between pack care and business operations.
I pull up encrypted emails, scrolling through overnight reports from various business interests. The Castellanos pharmaceutical empire doesn't run itself, and even though I've delegated most operations to trusted managers, there are still decisions that require my direct input.
Aurora dozes in my lap for maybe twenty minutes, her breathing soft and even, occasionally making small sounds that are unbearably cute.
Then I feel her stirring—subtle shifts in her weight, changes in breathing pattern that suggest consciousness returning.
She blinks slowly, eyelids fluttering open with obvious confusion. For a moment, she just stares at nothing in particular, brain clearly trying to reconcile where she is with where she thinks she should be.
Then her eyes widen in realization, and the most beautiful blush spreads across her cheeks.
"Oh my god," she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "That wasn't a dream."
I can't help but chuckle, the sound rumbling from my chest.
"I hope it was a good dream, at least."
She huffs, the blush intensifying as she realizes she's been sleeping in my lap like some kind of romance novel heroine.
"I... guess?"
The shy uncertainty in her voice is at odds with the confident woman I've seen dominating in the garage or taking charge during her heat.
"You don't act shy with the others," I observe, genuinely curious about the difference.
She mutters something incomprehensible, then admits quietly, "It's odd with you because you're so mature in comparison to them. Which is a good thing, oddly."
The explanation makes something warm bloom in my chest.
"My parents made sure to raise me to act more mature than my age," I explain, absently running my fingers through her sleep-messed hair. "It's a bit of a mind fuckery when you're well off. People assume everything came easy, that you don't understand struggle or work ethic."
Aurora shifts in my lap, getting more comfortable now that she's accepted the situation.
"Is that why you push yourself so hard? The training, the racing, all of it?"
"Genau." I switch to German unconsciously, then correct myself.
"Exactly. Though I'm rich, I was never really privileged like others might assume.
I worked hard, forced myself to do extra work, studied technical subjects that didn't come naturally—all so I didn't look like everything was given to me. "
"Is that why you know so much about mechanics and technology?" she asks. "Even the security stuff? You seem more well-rounded than most people I've met."
I shrug slightly, careful not to jostle her too much.
"It's good to be a jack of all trades. Makes you valuable in multiple contexts, harder to dismiss as just a rich kid playing at racing."