Kerry stared at the ceiling of one of the spare bedrooms in the pack house. Maybe they were right, and he didn't need to stay alone in that house. Not that sleep was coming to him either way. Every creak in the house, or an animal in the neighboring woods, sent him into high alert.
He couldn't get the feeling that someone watched him-most likely that stupid bird-out of his mind. Did the warlock use the bird to see what was happening? He didn't doubt it. His span of knowing what a witch could do was limited. Until Demetria, he'd never met a witch, not unless you counted the one they pulled from the lycan's kingdom.
Kerry shot up in his bed. Cynthia, he thought, was her name. Did anyone know where she came from or where she went after being freed?
He shoved from the bedroom, and raced tow
