Tatum's Tears | On Hold

Prologue

"C'mon, Tatum! What are you doing up there!?" Angier Wellington—or Ang, as she liked to call him—yelled in a startlingly obnoxious manner from outside her house. Tatum could almost picture him waving his arms at her window from the porch, the way he usually waved them in the air in front of her face to grab her attention.

She jumped in the middle of running a brush through her hair, realizing that she'd been almost caught ogling him in her thoughts.

Crap, but one couldn't blame her, because faced with his unruly blond hair and twinkling turquoise eyes, she doubted that anyone could resist that level of cuteness.

Paired with that irritated look he was most-likely giving her window now, with his face all scrunched up, nose upturned and lips pursed in that delicious pout, he was definitely growing up to be the most sought-after seventh grader in their school. Tatum had to fist her fingers at the thought—to stop herself from going downstairs and squishing his cheeks hard until they matched the pink color of his mouth.

"Calm your tits. I'm coming!" She yelled right back at him, hiding the fact that she'd been thinking about him in all his boyish cuteness behind a fake annoyed tone. That's how she'd recently started to hide her stupid urges to blush and giggle at his funny and adorable antics.

Prepubescent Tatum wouldn't be caught dead admitting to herself that Angier Wellington was anything but ugly as a toad.

But now these new feelings were confusing the hell out of her, and she didn't know what to do with them but shove them to the back of her mind and lock them in a proverbial suitcase and kick them under a proverbial bed, where it was sure to stay hidden.

Okay, she had lied. She wasn't confused. Not one bit.

To Tatum Karas, one thing was crystal clear.

She had a teeny, tiny, unwanted crush on her best friend.

Yep, there it was. She had admitted it to herself.

The only problem besides confessing them to him and getting him to see her the same way, was their Mates.

Soulmates, to be more clear. Each one of them werewolves were destined to find their soulmates, their other half, the missing puzzle to their soul. And Tatum knew that they weren't each other's soulmates. Indeed, she wasn't sixteen yet—the age at which they would be able to recognize their other half at sight—there were a few years to go for that, but somehow, she knew they weren't Mates. The connection she shared with her best friend was nothing but deep friendship, and to confirm her doubts she'd seen a couple of guys who were childhood best friends in her own Pack who'd turned out to be Mates. According to them, they'd always known that they would probably be each other's Mates because of the strong pull they felt towards each other, and their sixteenth birthday had merely confirmed a fact they'd been very sure of. And this had made Tatum analyze her own bond with Angier, which led to the conclusion that it was nothing special like theirs.

Of course, Tatum knew that their friendship was very special, after all, who would get such an amazing best friend willing to put up with all the unnecessary drama and baggage she came with as an Alpha's kid? She loved Angier Wellington for that and knew that this itsy-bitsy feelings she had were nothing but her developing hormones, and she would be happy and nothing else if he were to find his Mate the next day.

That was highly unlikely, unless his Mate was four years older than him.

'Maybe she is,' Her wolf remarked, testing her reaction.

Tatum wouldn't give the beast what it wanted by getting mad at her as she knew that the reason for her Wolf's anger was justified. The animal in her wanted to wait for her Mate and like him, only him.