Page 17 of Rescued By the Surly Sasquatch

She needed to know about the ancient pact, about the true nature of his kind, about the terrible consequences should they fail in their duty to the forest. But Chase just didn’t think she was ready yet.

Chapter 9

Betsy

Betsy stood in the middle of a small clearing, hands on her hips, glaring at the towering figure of Chase with all the ferocity of a particularly miffed kitten. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with spots of golden light that danced across Chase's fur, making him look even more majestic and infuriatingly mysterious than usual.

"Okay,“ Betsy said, her voice a mixture of exasperation and determination. "Let's try this again. What, exactly, is that?" She pointed to a nearby bush, its leaves shimmering with an iridescent glow that was decidedly un-bush-like. There wasn’t anything like it in any of her grandmother’s books.

Chase's brow furrowed, his dark eyes reflecting a struggle between his desire to share and his instinct to protect. "It is a plant," he rumbled, his deep voice sending a shiver down Betsy's spine that she promptly ignored.

"A plant," Betsy repeated flatly. "Wow. Thanks, David Attenborough. Really clearing things up there."

She stepped closer to the bush, reaching out to touch one of its glowing leaves. Just before her fingers made contact, Chase's massive hand gently but firmly caught her wrist.

"Do not touch," he warned, his voice low and urgent. "It is sensitive."

Betsy raised an eyebrow. "Sensitive? What, does it have feelings? Will it cry if I hurt its leafy little feelings?"

As if in response, the bush suddenly shuddered, its leaves rustling in a nonexistent breeze. A moment later, it let outa sound that could only be described as a petulant sneeze, showering Betsy with a cloud of glittering pollen.

"Oh, for the love of—" Betsy spluttered, waving her hands in front of her face. "Great. Just great. Now I'm covered in magical plant snot. This is exactly how I wanted to start my day."

Chase's lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his stoic facade. "Perhaps it did not appreciate your tone," he suggested.

Betsy shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "Oh, so now you're taking the bush's side? Traitor."

She brushed ineffectually at her clothes, succeeding only in smearing the glittery pollen further. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to Chase. "Look, big guy. I get that you're trying to protect me, or the forest, or whatever. But I can't learn if you don't teach me. And in case you haven't noticed, weird stuff is happening all over the place."

As if to emphasize her point, a nearby tree suddenly sprouted a bunch of bananas. Actual bananas. In Connecticut.

"See?" Betsy gestured wildly at the fruit. "That's not normal! Unless we've somehow teleported to the tropics, in which case I am woefully underdressed and in desperate need of a piña colada."

Chase's expression darkened, his massive shoulders tensing. "The forest is unsettled," he admitted reluctantly.

"Unsettled?" Betsy echoed. "Chase, honey, 'unsettled' is what happens when you eat gas station sushi. This is full-on chaos." She took a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration bubbling up inside her. "I want to help," she said, her voice softening. "I need to help. But I can't do that if you keep me in the dark."

For a moment, it seemed like Chase might actually open up. But then his expression closed off again, like shutters slamming shut over a window. "It is not safe for you to know everything," he said firmly. "Not yet."

Betsy threw her hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I'll figure it out on my own."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off towards the cabin, leaving a troubled-looking Chase behind. As she walked, she could have sworn she heard the sneeze-bush giggling.

Back at the cabin, Betsy channeled her frustration into cleaning. She attacked the mud and endless leaves that got tracked in with a vengeance, muttering under her breath about stubborn Sasquatches and their ridiculous need for secrecy.

"I mean, honestly," she grumbled, vigorously sweeping under an old armchair. "What does he think I'm going to do? Sell forest secrets to the highest bidder? Start a magical petting zoo?"

The broom hit something solid under the chair with a dull thud. Frowning, Betsy knelt down to investigate. Her fingers closed around a leather-bound book, its cover worn soft with age.

"Hello, what's this?" she murmured, pulling it out. As she brushed off the dust, her eyes widened in recognition. "Grandma Francine's journal."

Excitement bubbling up inside her, Betsy plopped down on the freshly swept floor and opened the journal. The pages were filled with her grandmother's flowing script, interspersed with drawings of plants and what looked like magical symbols.

"Jackpot," Betsy grinned, settling in to read. "Take that, Chewbacca. Who needs a furry tour guide when I've got Grandma's magical diary?"

As she flipped through the pages, absorbing her grandmother's wisdom about herbs and forest lore, Betsy stumbled upon an entry that made her pause. The handwriting here was different, more hurried and urgent than the neat script in the rest of the journal.

"The true nature of the forest guardians is far more complex than I ever imagined," the entry read."They are not just protectors, but conduits. The very essence of the forest flows through them, binding them to this land in ways I'm only beginning to understand. The mate bond... it's not just about love or companionship. It's a vital part of maintaining the balance. Without it, the guardians might... No, I can't even consider that possibility. I must find a way to ensure the continuation of the bond, for the sake of the forest and all who dwell within it."

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