In the Arms of the Dragon Princes

by Jessica Miller

  So, that’s all I thought I’d ever be. As time went by, I grew out of my chubby awkward phase, and came to appreciate my curves and wear them well. Mike grew up too and became a Navy SEAL. I slowly put my thoughts about us ever being together aside.

  But, that all changed when I got the package.

  It came for me when both Mike and I were home for Thanksgiving.

  We’d just sat down to a huge turkey dinner made by Mike’s mom when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” my dad said. He stopped at the front door and I followed Mike and Linda, my step mom into the kitchen. He was gone less than two minutes before joining us in the kitchen.

  “Sabrina, there’s a package for you,” he said, “I put it on the table in the entry hall

  “Who delivers on Thanksgiving?” I asked, feeling more than a bit curious.

  “I don’t know,” Dad said, “there was no one there when I opened the door. Just a package sitting on the front step.”

  “I’ll go take a look at it,” I said standing from the table.

  “Sabrina, don’t you think it can wait until after dinner,” Linda said with a hint of impatience. I was too curious to wait. I hadn’t received a package at my dad’s house since I’d lived there in high school.

  “I’ll be right back, I promise,” I said. And, with that, I moved quickly to the entrance way.

  Just as dad had promised, the package lay on the small end table by the front door. It was covered in plain brown paper. The wrapping was neat, almost immaculate.

  A feeling of intense unease came over me as I cautiously picked it up.

  My name: Sabrina Bellsmith was indeed written in sharp bold letters on the outside of the package just above my parents’ address.

  I looked to the right-hand corner, but there was no return address and no indication of who might have sent it.

  Taking the package in hand, I stepped back inside, closing the door behind me.

  With my heart pounding in my chest, I decided it was best to open it here rather than at the dinner table.

  Cautiously, I picked the package up and ripped it open. Inside was a small, plain wooden box. My name was, again, written in bold letters on the top.

  When I opened this box, my heart caught in my throat.

  I was looking at over fifty pictures of myself. But, they were not pictures I remembered having taken nor were they pictures I wanted to have taken.

  They were pictures of me on my way to school in Manhattan, pictures of me on the subway, taken through the window of restaurants where I was eating dinner. I flipped through all of them with a growing amount of dread. When I finally reached the last one, I felt my entire body froze.

  It was a picture of me in my bedroom completely naked. There was a piece of paper underneath this last picture but, I didn’t dare look at it.

  Instead, I let out a loud gasp and dropped the box. This sent my Dad rushing from the table to me, immediately followed by Mike and my stepmother, Linda.

  “Sweetheart, what is it?” Dad asked, immediately putting his arm around me. I found that I could do nothing but point with a shaking finger to the package I had received.

  To my surprise, it was Mike who boldly stepped forward and picked up the box while Dad kept his arm firmly around my shoulders and Linda lingered in the background.

  I watched as Mike flipped through the pictures an increasing amount of shock and something like rage darkening his face with each one. When he finally reached the last one, the one that made me drop the box, his face colored for one moment with something other than rage. It looked as though he was blushing. A moment later, I saw his free hand curl into a fist, anger once again present.

  “Sabrina,” he said with a quiet growl that I knew spelled danger for someone, “do you have any idea who took these?”

  He looked up at me sharply as I shook my head ‘no’. Then I remembered…

  “There’s a note,” I told him shakily, “at the bottom of the box. I didn’t read it.”

  Immediately, Mike bent towards the box still on the ground and picked up the note.

  As he read it, his face turned from red to pale as the blood seemed to drain out of him. It was a look I had never seen my stepbrother wear.

  “Mike?” Linda asked stepping forward hesitantly. “What does it say.”

  Mike didn’t answer but silently handed the note to his mother before turning away from all of us and running one hand over his face.

  Linda looked at the note and read aloud:

  “Tell your brother I said ‘hi’. It’s signed J,” she said.

  “Mike?” Dad asked, his arm still clutched protectively around me, “do you know someone that would do this?”

  It was a long, silent moment before Mike turned to face us.

  “Yeah,” he answered finally, “I think I do.”

  *****

  We sat back at the table, the front door firmly locked behind us, intermittently nibbling at our turkey. Mike told us about the mysterious ‘J’.

  His name was James McBride. Mike had testified at his trial three years earlier. James had been a fellow SEAL. According to Mike, he’d always had a temper and a certain contempt for women. One night at a bar, James had begged for Mike’s help with a woman he’d raped and nearly choked to death. Mike had agreed to drive the woman to the hospital and stayed to make sure that she was taken care of.

  In the morning despite protest, begging and even threats from James, Mike reported the incident to his superior officers.

  “But, I thought he’d been put away,” Linda said, “I thought he’d been convicted.”

  “He was,” Mike said, “he only got a year and probation.”

  “Wait,” I said slowly abandoning the now cold mashed potatoes on my plate, “why is this the first time I’m hearing about any of this?”

  Dad and Mike shared a cautious look across the table before Dad turned to me and said:

  “I asked Mike if we should talk to you about it,” he said, “but Mike said he didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Why would I have been worried then?” I asked. The idea that my stepbrother was testifying in a major trial would have excited me more than anything else. Indeed, as the story was told, I couldn’t help but feel proud of Mike for doing what was right. Even now that I knew what had come of it.

  “Well,” Dad continued with another cautious look at Mike, “you’d just started college and you had a lot going on…” Dad trailed off. I could tell there was something he wasn’t telling me.

  I looked to Mike who glanced at me then raised an eyebrow at my dad as though he was encouraging him to continue.

  “Also, this guy, McBride he...he made some...threats,” Dad said slowly.

  “I thought he was bluffing,” Mike interjected, “James was always talking shit. I thought he was full of it.”

  “Threats about me?” I asked, surprised that any of Mike’s Navy SEAL buddies would even know I existed.

  “Not directly,” Mike said. “He just said I had some pretty girls in my life and I should make sure to look after them.”

  My heart started pounding in my chest. But, it was not only fear that made it beat a quick rhythm this time. It was also anger mixed with frustration. This guy, this stalker, had been a possible threat for over a year? I’d been walking around Manhattan, to my apartment in Brooklyn sometimes at night and the entire time, I’d been completely unaware that someone could be following me.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said fiercely. “This guy makes a threat about ‘women in your life’ and you don’t even think to tell me about it?”

  “Honey, we did talk about it,” Dad said, but I ignored him and looked straight at Mike. That, I knew was where my anger should be directed.

  “Sabrina,” he said plaintively, “I told you, I was sure he was bluffing.”

  “How about now?” I spat back.

  Something in my mind told me that I should lay off. Looking at Mike who was running an
other hand over his face, I could tell that he was beating himself up over this more than I ever could. But, somehow, I couldn’t let it go.

  Beyond the rage of not being told, of being treated like a child was a niggling fear that when James McBride had spoken about ‘women’, Mike didn’t think he meant me.

  The fear that I was not a woman to Mike and I never would be. Just a little stepsister.

  “We should call the police,” Linda said finally after a tense pause. “They should know that someone is out there-”

  “They won’t be able to do anything,” Mike cut in.

  “What do you mean they won’t be able to do anything?” Dad asked. “They’re police! This is what they do.”

  Mike simply shook his head.

  “McBride is stalking Sabrina in New York,” he said. “The police here have no jurisdiction in New York. The most they can do is call ‘Brina’s precinct in and give them a heads up but, even then, there’s not going to be much follow through on it.”

  “Why wouldn’t there be follow through?” I asked still annoyed, “A crazy man is stalking me! That’s got to get someone’s attention!”

  “But, there was no direct threat made,” Mike said plaintively, “they would probably just request that you get a restraining order but, that won’t do shit.”

  “Mike!” Linda said with a gasp. She did not approve of swearing around the table.

  “Sorry Mom,” Mike muttered.

  “So, what am I supposed to do now?” I asked. Trepidation was starting to mix with my feelings of anger towards Mike. The idea that I would be followed, photographed and, maybe, worse when I got back to my tiny apartment in Manhattan made me want to hide in my bedroom at my parent’s house and never come out again.

  “Honey, maybe you should stay here for a while,” Dad said, “just until this blows over.”

  “I can’t do that, Dad,” I said. Even though I did have the childish urge to hide in my bedroom, I knew how very impractical that urge was, “It’s my senior year, and I’ve got finals to take when I get back. I can’t afford to miss any of them.”

  “Sabrina, we know how important school is to you,” Linda said gently, “but, it’s not worth risking your life.”

  “All the guy’s done so far is take pictures,” I said sounding much braver than I felt, “besides, I’ll only be there for a few weeks before I come back for Christmas break.”

  “And he probably knows that,” Mike said, “that gives him a window if he wants to do anything else.”

  I looked around the table feeling trapped. I felt tears bristle behind my eyes as I thought about how hard I had worked to get my degree. I was one semester from graduating and now some asshole from Mike’s past was going to take it all away from me.

  “Sweetheart,” Dad said gently reaching for my hand, “we’re just worried about you.”

  I nodded but didn’t trust myself to speak.

  Finally, after another tense silence, Mike spoke up.

  “Listen,” he said. “What if I go back to the city with you?”

  I stared at him for a moment, not quite ready to believe what I was hearing.

  “You mean…” I started weakly.

  “I mean,” Mike said firmly, “this is my mess, I should help clean it up. So...I’ll go back with you and I’ll stay with you until the end of the semester.”

  “But, Mike,” Linda said, “you’re shipping out soon.”

  “Not until after Christmas,” Mike reminded her, “and ‘Brina’s only got, what two more weeks before the semester finishes up?”

  He looked to me for an answer, I nodded again.

  “We’ll both come back here for Christmas,” Mike said. “Until then, I’ll stay with Sabrina and make sure she’s safe. That is...if you’re okay with that?” Mike looked at me hesitantly.

  It took me longer to answer than it should have. I knew in the back of my mind that it was a good plan, and the thirteen-year-old inside me who still nursed a hopeless crush on Mike cheered at the idea of living with him in my small apartment. All the same, the angry niggling voice that had lashed out earlier still whispered to me that he only wanted to protect me because he saw me as a child. His little sister, nothing more.

  Finally pushing that little niggling voice aside, I looked at Mike and said.

  “That’s okay with me. At least that way I’ll be able to take my finals.”

  “Well, that seems settled then,” Dad said.

  We ate the rest of our Thanksgiving dinner in near silence. I kept glancing at Mike across the table. Suddenly, thoughts of him and me alone in my one room efficiency apartment filled my head.

  I began to wonder where Mike would sleep. There was not room for a couch in the apartment. Barely room for a table and chairs.

  My brain created an image of us sharing a bed. Of his warm, hard body pressed close to me of his arms wrapped around me. I felt my face growing hot, and tried as hard as I could to hide my embarrassment.

  Nonetheless, these seductive, forbidden thoughts persisted all through the weekend. And, by the time we got to the city and began walking up the two flights of stairs to my apartment, they were all but out of control.

  “You don’t have to worry, you know?” Mike said as we reached the door to my landing, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  He’d taken to interpreting my blushes of lust and embarrassment at the thought of sleeping near him as blushes of fear.

  “I’m not worried,” I said straightening myself up.

  He looked suspicious as we walked down the hall but didn’t say anything more.

  When we reached my door, I gasped at the sight that met us and took two steps back. It was the first thing in two days that made thoughts of Mike, naughty or otherwise, fly out of my head completely.

  My door stood open. Everything in the apartment that had stood on shelves or the bed stand or in drawers was now strewn across the floor.

  On the open door, I could just make out a sloppily written message in red paint: Welcome Home.

  *****

  I stood frozen in the doorway as Mike hastily moved in front of me and held out an arm to keep me from stepping across the threshold to my ransacked apartment.

  Carefully, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the handgun he always carried with him when he visited the city.

  “Mike, don’t-” I whispered.

  “Shh!” he cut me off quickly as he slowly made his way through the small room and into the kitchen. Carefully he opened the only other door in the little apartment, the one that lead to the bathroom.

  He stepped aside as the door swung open and he pointed his gun inside. Still standing in the hallway, I saw him step cautiously into the small bathroom and then step out a moment later.

  “It’s clear,” he said firmly. “He’s gone.”

  I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding, and finally stepped over the threshold, closing the painted door behind me.

  “Mike, we have to call the police now,” I said as Mike, still facing the bathroom, carefully put his gun back into his holster.

  “It’s no use,” he said again, “they’re not going to-”

  “Don’t tell me they won’t be able to do anything,” I said firmly. “This is a break in. That’s what police handle. Break-ins!”

  Mike turned to me and heaved a sigh. When his eyes met mine, I knew exactly what he was doing. It was something he’d done since I first met him, when he was sixteen. When he was failing math, he’d refused to go to tutoring, opting instead to study the book on his own for hours each night. When he got an ankle injury in football, he’d refused to see a doctor for three weeks before it swelled so badly that his mom had to force him.

  Now that he was grown, things clearly hadn’t changed. Mike didn’t like asking anyone for help.

  Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it this time. This time, it wasn’t just a twisted ankle he was messing with.

  “Look, you know this guy,”
I told him, “you know how dangerous he is. And, given what he’s done here, he’s clearly crazy to boot. We’re going to need help dealing with this and you know it.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and I stared straight back at him, crossing my arms for good measure. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t backing down on this.

  Finally, his lips quirked into a half smile that I’d always found undeniably sexy.

  “You know I hate it when you do that,” he said.

  “Do what?” I asked trying to force down the blush in my cheeks.

  “Act all smug when you know you’re right.”

  Mike put in the 911 call and it surprised me how long it took for the police to arrive. I’d never had to call the police before. All I had to go on was images I’d seen from TV of sirens and dozens of cop cars rushing to a call, perhaps accompanied by an ambulance.

  When two lone, tired looking cops showed up after over fifteen minutes of waiting, I was underwhelmed. My disappointment continued when I learned that Mike had been, in essence, right. There was very little the police could do for us.

  “So, nothing was stolen and you didn’t see the perpetrator?” The first cop, a tall man with a slight beer belly and a five o’clock shadow asked me.

  “Well, no, we didn’t see him but...we...I mean, Mike...thinks he knows who did it,” I said.

  “And how do you know that?” the second cop asked turning to Mike. This cop was much younger than the first with darker skin and a clean shaven face.

  “‘Brina was...sent something at Thanksgiving,” Mike answered, “it was signed with the first letter of someone I had the past with.”

  “What was she sent?” the first cop asked.

  I told them about the pictures and when they asked to see them, I pulled the box out and handed it to the second cop.

  As he flipped through extremely intimate pictures of my life with very little expression on his face, I began to feel more and more exposed.

  Mike seemed to notice this. He stepped closer to me and then took a step in front of me as though he meant to shield me from the officer’s gaze.

  “And, about how far back do these pictures go?” the cop asked. Still flipping. He had almost reached the end and I shuddered to think about the last one of me that had been taken.