Protecting His Rejected Mate

“He is coming for you,” the message read. “You need to leave.” Rose stared at the screen of her cell phone, trying to make sense of what she had just read. What did it mean? Who was it about? The questions ran through her mind like water, and the sense of uneasiness would not leave her alone. She read the text again, digesting every letter, every word and crevice of the content but then again, there was no real sense to it. The only explanation she had was a bad prank, nothing more than a joke designed to scare the recipient. She knew the extent to which the prank could go, she had a fondness for the act back at the werewolf academy. She felt nostalgic, with the memories she spent there pouring in like floodwaters. She recalled how she would run around with toilet paper on the basketball court, and how she would capture a hive of bees and keep them to make someone wish they had never been born. There was an extent to what she did, and that was the werewolf academy, they were trained to be tough and rough, and even she did not do it alone. She had the best person in the world, she had Tyler. They were inseparable as kids — lunch, court, class and field — and they were reputable. Every house of the academy knew them, and their reputation gained them the name, “The Night Pack.” She did not know the next reaction, the next move to take in such a situation she had found herself other than to sit there, taking a sip of the glass of water on the table before her. There was a knock on the door. “Are you ready?” The voice was from outside the trailer, and it was none other than Emily, her spazzy red-haired make-up artist. They had met at the short film she had about a year ago and had been good friends ever since. The production team had produced everything, from the set to the cleaners but Rose insisted that they allow Emily on the place. Her excitement was a form of screams enough to blow eardrums, but here she was, at the job of a lifetime, late and sweaty. “One minute,” she put down the glass of water and plopped on her shoes before shuffling to open the door. “Emily, you’re late.” “Traffic,” she fiddled with her car keys, eventually dropping them. “This place is not easy to find.” “Remind me not to vouch for you again.” Emily picked up the car keys. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you ready?” “Yeah.” They left the trailers and walked toward the set of the movie, which was a pain of a walk from where they were. The place was full of people, as expected for the shoot of the pilot episode for the new series, Hell’s Hanging. She had not yet familiarized herself with the script, and if honesty was on the table, she did not truly understand it. It was explained by the board of writers to be a romantic comedy about a couple who had a child at a young age, trying to make the relationship work for the sake of the kid, and she had been lucky enough to be cast as one of the main characters, the wife. The set was out of town, and even though she needed an apartment, she decided to stay in her trailer for a while. At the distance was Rose’s partner, picking something from his car. Henry Killian, a popular actor who was so good in his last movie that he became the youngest person, at 27 to win an award in his category and even though the script was questionable, his involvement meant it was going to be something promising. Her anger was fueled, not by Henry or Emily’s voice but by the sight of Sophia, who was with him for whatever reason. At the distance, Sophia saw them and with a smile, began walking toward them. Her hair was dark and curled and her jacket seemed to match her shoes. Sophia smirked. “Rose.” “Sophia,” said Rose. “Why are you here?” “In case you didn’t know, my boyfriend will be working with you.” “Since when did he become your boyfriend?” “Last night, we met at a party. I was invited.” Rose could feel the jab, anyone around could feel it. The party from the night before was one of a kind, and she was sure that Sophia did not get invited because of her goodness, or popularity but rather f her manipulative behaviour — an explanation for why she got the Henry Killian. Sophia stretched her hands to Emily. “Hi, I’m Sophia. Have we met?” “I don’t think so,” said Emily. “I always remember faces I paint.” Rose felt something. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and as the buzz reverberated through her body, her heart jolted. Her eyes were locked on the new message from an unknown number. “You have been warned,” the message read, “You have to leave.” Quite ominous, and challenging so she handled her phone well, totally forgetting the people around her and asking, “Who are you, what are you talking about?” She sent the message but it failed, she tapped again but it kept failing, and then, with a buzz and chime came another message. “Be careful of who you talk to.” It was a prank, a dedicated prankster going about their way to startle her. There was one thing common amongst famous people, no matter how little you’ve heard of them, there was always a stalker. However, stalkers don’t generally warn people about things, which gave the question the possibility that it was not a stalker, but a person that knew her. The question then remained, who is this person? There was still the question, the question she had had since the first time she got the message. Who is this mystery person warning her?