He paced the resort cabin--five steps up, five steps down--and wondered how the hell he managed to get himself into these situations. Who was he kidding? He knew damn well where the problem lay.

Women. Human woman. Every single mistake he'd made in his entire life could be traced back to a human woman. You'd think after twelve hundred years he'd have learned his lesson, but no.

The sound of the shower running in the next room drew his attention and he moaned, running his fingers through his hair. The girl, whose name he didn't even know yet, was in there cleaning the blood off her body. Actually, he'd figured out that she wasn't a kid like he'd first thought. She had to be in her mid twenties at least, though it was hard to tell with blood streaked on her face and her hair matted to her head. He dreaded seeing what she looked like and found himself hoping she was hideously ugly though his instincts told him that wouldn't be the case. Instinct told him that he was going to be in big trouble around her.

His gaze fell on the battered Roots bag on the floor. He frowned. He hadn't missed her panicked check of that bag when she'd first woken up on his boat. There was something in there that was important to her, that she was afraid had been lost or taken. All the evidence pointed to her being the one who had found the key and he suspected that was what she had in her bag. He'd felt the key's fading magic up until he'd entered the bookstore before it had disappeared completely. Whoever had the key had still been there when he'd walked in.

He had to find that key. The fate of the island relied on it, and if snooping through the human's belongings was necessary, by the Gods and Goddesses he'd do it.

The sound of water battering the walls of the small shower stall continued. Lorrick sat on the edge of the bed, and with one eye on the bathroom door, reached down and picked up the bag. It was stuffed full and he knew he'd never be able to search it in time, not if he wanted to get everything back in before she came out.

Instead of emptying the bag, he gave it a few experimental squeezes. His heart raced at the feel of the hard round object at the bottom of the bag.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He nearly dropped the backpack in surprise, then nearly dropped it again a second later in astonishment when he looked up and saw her. She stood in the doorway, her short hair dripping water on sun-kissed shoulders. She held the soft white towel together, bunched in a fist between her breasts, but the edges had parted just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of one smooth inner thigh.

Her face was pink and fresh from the hot water. Her full lips glistened from her shower like dew on a spring morning. She had sharp green eyes that sparked with outrage.

He was definitely in trouble.