Winter Prey

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I'm not in shape for this type of danger and emotional horror, Kymbria thought. That's why I'm outta here.

She'd gone totally off her medications a week ago, as soon as Keoman agreed to work with her, although traces probably still lingered in her system. She wasn't stable, though; her nerves were still shaky. Hell, a moment ago she'd jumped at a gun-shot-like pop in the fireplace. She'd hoped Keoman's teachings would help get her through the withdrawal from the drugs; that by the time they were completely out of her system, she'd have enough control to weather the lingering trauma and infrequent flashbacks.

Now she'd have to resort to the pharmaceuticals again for a while, at least until February. She hated to put off her quest for that long. She'd been fervently counting on the lessons in the Old Ways to counteract her problems, as they had done after Tina's death all those years ago.

Counting on the lessons to make her loved ones safe from her.

She reminded herself, however, that she wasn't the same naïve teenager as the girl who went to pieces over Tina's death. And so far, despite the psychiatrist's mismanagement of her counseling, the PTSD hadn't progressed. She hadn't disassociated and lost time, her paramount fear. She couldn't remember her last night of interrupted sleep, since she'd refused the sleeping pills right from the first.

The emotional anesthesia was wearing off, though, her recall of Rick's death churning at the healed ulcer in her stomach. Her guilt also kept crawling out of the bottom drawer, the certainty that their personal battles had contributed to the outcome.

So confusing. She remembered holding Rick later in Germany, recalled his last words, but she couldn't visualize his face....

"What's wrong, Kymbria?" Caleb asked quietly, making her realize she'd been off in her own thoughts for several moments. "PTSD?"

Her gaze flew to him. "How did you know?"

"Some of my Desert Storm buddies. But, also, my uncle, my father's older brother, was in Nam. When I knew him, Uncle John vacillated between being zombie-like on his meds to...well, with your background, you know what PTSD does to men."

"And women," she murmured.

"And women," he agreed. "My uncle hated how he was on the meds. I overheard him and Dad talking a couple times. Uncle John said the meds zapped every bit of emotion out of him. They kept him from being a danger to others, but didn't give him much of a life in return. Yet without the meds, he didn't have much of a life, either. He didn't dare have a relationship with a woman."

"The divorce rate is sky-high among vets who come home with PTSD."

"Uncle John's wife left him less than six months after he got back. He actually shot at her once during a flashback. She'd just come home from a doctor's appointment. She was pregnant, and he thought she was carrying explosives under her coat."

"My God," Kymbria whispered.

Concern in his expression, Caleb reached for her, then drew back before he touched her. "Is that why you're up here alone? You're afraid you might hurt someone you love?"

She glared at him. "That's none of your business, McCoy!" Immediately, she fought to control herself, worried she was on the verge of another attack. But...she hadn't heard any whispered words. She was only reacting to the fact that this man was too new in her life to be trusted with something as important as answers to the questions he'd asked. The look on his face still held concern, though, not irritation at her nasty tone.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "But maybe you better go now."

Rather than stand to leave, Caleb said, "I didn't mean to intrude in your personal life. But I still feel uneasy about leaving you alone."