Page 3 of Rescued By the Surly Sasquatch

Yet, as the breeze shifted, carrying the woman's scent to him, Chase felt his rage falter. Beneath the acrid taint of the human world, a familiar note teased his sensitive nose. Herbs. Wildflowers. Echoes of Francine. But at the same time, something wildly different and alluring.

Suddenly, an unexpected pull tugged at Chase's core, a sensation both foreign and strangely familiar. It was as if the forest itself was responding to the woman's presence, the very air around him humming with an energy he couldn't quite understand. A sense of unease washed over him as he felt the trees whisper and the earth beneath his feet shift ever so slightly.This was more than just an intruder; somehow, this human was connected to the forest in a way he'd never encountered before.

Intrigue warred with suspicion as Chase observed the newcomer's clumsy attempts to enter the cabin. Who was she? Why had she come to this remote place? And why did she carry Francine's scent? More importantly, why did the forest seem to welcome her in a way it never had with other humans?

Through the night, Chase maintained his vigil. Every instinct honed by years in the wilderness screamed at him to drive the intruder away, to protect his forest from this threat. Yet something held him back, some nagging sense that there was more here than met the eye.

As dawn broke, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, the cabin door opened once more. Chase watched, brow furrowed in confusion, as the woman went to her vehicle and pulled out a strange, rolled-up mat. It was an eye watering shade of pink.

What followed defied comprehension. The human began contorting herself into bizarre positions, balancing precariously and making soft grunting noises. Chase's eyes widened in disbelief. Was this some form of human madness? A ritual to ward off forest spirits?

He leaned forward, studying her movements with a mixture of fascination and desire. In all his years observing humans from afar, he'd never witnessed anything like this. He wondered if she was some type of witch, using her powers of seduction for some unknown purpose.

As she wobbled dangerously close to the porch's edge, Chase felt an unfamiliar urge surge through him. For a heartbeat, he nearly stepped from his hiding place, ready to prevent her fall. The impulse shocked him to his core.

This human was a threat, he reminded himself sternly. A disruption to the delicate balance he'd sworn to protect. To make matters worse, a fierce need hardened his body as his cock beganto swell and pound. He wanted to see what she looked like without her ridiculous clothes. He wanted to know what she tasted like. He wanted to see her face as he slipped deep inside her and claimed her.

Shocked by his reaction to this strange human, Chase retreated deeper into the forest. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he wanted to lose himself between a female’s thighs. And he had never desired a human that way.

Chapter 2

Betsy

Betsy stood in a small clearing, her arms akimbo, surveying the lush greenery around her with a mixture of awe and determination. The forest was a riot of colors and textures, from the rough bark of ancient trees to the delicate petals of wildflowers peeking out from the underbrush. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating a dappled pattern on the forest floor that shifted with each breeze.

"All right, Mother Nature," Betsy muttered, adjusting the woven basket looped over her arm. "Let's see what goodies you've got for me today."

She took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, earthy scent of the forest. This was it—her first real foray into foraging. Sure, she'd watched a few YouTube videos and skimmed through Grandma Francine's old notebooks, but how hard could it be? Plants didn't move. They just sat there, waiting to be picked. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Right?

Betsy scanned the ground for any herbs that looked vaguely medicinal. Or edible. Or just green, really. At this point, she wasn't feeling too picky. She tried to remember what plants her grandmother had pointed out to gather, but it had been a long time since they walked the forest together.

When her parents had moved to Jersey, she only saw her grandmother during the summer and then only for a weekend here and there. After her father passed, her mother didn’t wantto make the trip anymore, and her visits with her grandmother became few and far between.

"Okay, let's see," she mused, crouching down to examine a cluster of leaves. "Pointy edges, kind of fuzzy. That's got to be something useful, right?"

She plucked a few leaves, holding them up to the light like she'd seen real herbalists do in documentaries. They looked... planty. Definitely planty.

"In the basket you go, mystery herb," Betsy declared, dropping the leaves into her basket. "I'll figure out what you are later. Probably some kind of super-plant that cures hiccups or gives you x-ray vision or something."

As she continued her botanical treasure hunt, Betsy's initial excitement began to wane. An hour into her expedition, her basket contained a motley assortment of leaves, twigs, and what she hoped were mushrooms but feared might be oddly shaped pebbles.

"Come on, Betsy," she grumbled, wiping sweat from her brow. "You've got this. You're a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a plant identification guide."

She paused, considering.

"Okay, maybe I do. Note to self: Amazon Prime that bad boy ASAP."

Just as Betsy was contemplating calling it quits and heading back for a well-deserved nap, a familiar scent caught her attention. A memory winnowed up of making tea with her grandmother and sipping it iced on a sticky summer day. She followed her nose to a patch of green leaves. "Jackpot."

There, nestled between two fallen logs, was a cluster of plants that looked exactly like the mint in those mojito recipes she'd been saving on Pinterest.

"Oh, you beauty," she cooed, running her fingers over the leaves. "You and I are going to make some magic together. Mint tea, here we come!"

With the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store, Betsy began harvesting her treasure. She could almost taste the refreshing brew, could practically feel the steam rising from a rustic mug clasped between her hands as she sat on the porch, surveying her forest domain like the herbalist queen she was destined to become.

"Take that, doubters," Betsy crowed, stuffing handfuls of leaves into her basket. "Betsy Ferris, Herb Whisperer extraordinaire. They'll write books about me. Or at least a moderately successful blog."

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