Page 8 of Rescued By the Surly Sasquatch

The change was instantaneous. His head snapped up, nostrils flaring. In a movement almost too fast for Betsy's eyes to follow, he whirled around, his gaze locking onto her with laser-like intensity.

Betsy's heart, which had just begun to settle into a somewhat normal rhythm, decided to go for gold in the Olympic speed-beating event. She froze, caught in the Sasquatch's stare like a deer in headlights—if the headlights belonged to the world's sexiest, furriest semi-truck.

Wait... sexiest? Where had that come from?

But as she stood there, unable to move, unable to even breathe, Betsy couldn't deny the sudden, intense attraction that surged through her. His eyes, dark and intelligent, seemed to peer straight into her soul. His powerful frame radiated a raw, untamed energy that made every hair on her body stand on end.

"Oh boy," Betsy squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am in so much trouble."

The tension in the clearing was thick enough to cut with a knife—a really big knife, given the size of the Sasquatch. Neither of them moved, locked in a staring contest that was equal parts terrifying and something that made Betsy's knees weak and her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

She knew she should run. Every survival instinct, every bit of common sense she possessed was screaming at her to turn tail and sprint back to the cabin as fast as her legs could carry her. But she couldn't move. Didn't want to move.

Because in that moment, as impossible as it seemed, Betsy felt a connection. A spark of recognition, of understanding, that defied all logic. It was as if some part of her, some deep, primal part she hadn't even known existed, was suddenly wide awake and singing.

"Well," she thought, a slightly hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat, "Grandma always did say I'd know when I met my soulmate. Though I'm pretty sure she didn't expect him to be quite so furry."

The Sasquatch took a step forward, his movement cautious but purposeful. Betsy's breath caught. He was even more impressive up close, his presence filling the clearing like a force of nature.

"Hi there," Betsy managed, her voice a mix of terror and awe. "I'm Betsy. Francine’s granddaughter. Thanks for the mint and mushrooms. And for not eating me. Both are equally appreciated."

The creature tilted his head, regarding her with an expression that seemed almost curious. There was an intelligence in those eyes, a depth of understanding that sent a shiver down Betsy's spine.

And then, just as Betsy was considering whether it would be inappropriate to ask a Sasquatch for his number, the forest around them faded into insignificance. Betsy felt like she was teetering on the edge of something monumental, something that would change her life forever.

As she stood there, heart pounding, mind reeling, one thought crystallized with startling clarity: whatever happened next, there was no going back. This moment, this encounter, was the point of no return.

And despite every rational thought screaming in protest, Betsy knew she didn't want to go back. She was exactly where she was meant to be.

The Sasquatch's eyes seemed to bore into her, filled with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and Betsy found herself holding her breath, waiting for whatever earth-shattering revelation was about to come.

This was it. The moment that would define everything that came after.

Betsy Ferris, former corporate drone turned wannabe herbalist, stood face to face with a creature of myth and legend. And somehow, inexplicably, it felt like coming home.

Chapter 4

Chase

Chase stood motionless, his dark eyes fixed on the small human figure before him. The forest around them faded into insignificance, every sense he possessed zeroed in on her. Betsy was Francine's granddaughter. Now it made perfect sense. The forest would want her to take over from her grandmother. She was no longer the stranger who had disrupted the careful balance of his world. Betsy was the woman who, impossibly, carried the scent of his mate.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, too quiet for human ears to detect. Chase's mind raced, grappling with the implications of what his instincts were telling him. It couldn't be. Generations of Sasquatch lore, passed down through whispered tales in hidden groves, spoke of the rarity of finding one's true mate. When such a bond occurred, it was always between their own kind. Always.

And yet...

He inhaled deeply, allowing her scent to flood his senses. Beneath the lingering traces of artificial products—remnants of her human world—lay something primal. Something that called to the very core of his being. Notes of herbs and wildflowers, reminiscent of Francine but uniquely Betsy's, entwined with a musk that spoke of fertility and strength. But underlying it all was a scent he'd only heard described in the oldest of their stories. The unmistakable aroma of the female who was fated to be his mate.

As the realization hit him, Chase felt a surge of emotion so powerful it seemed to ripple through the very forest aroundthem. The trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in a sudden, inexplicable breeze. Flowers that had been tightly closed began to bloom, their petals unfurling as if awakening from a long slumber. Even the air itself seemed to shimmer with an invisible energy, responding to the turmoil of Chase's emotions.

Chase's massive frame trembled with the effort of restraining himself. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to claim her, to sweep her into his arms and carry her deep into the forest where no other could ever threaten their bond. His hands, capable of uprooting trees, clenched into fists at his sides. No. He was more than just instinct. He was the guardian of this forest, protector of the delicate balance between the seen and unseen worlds. He would not be ruled by mere biology.

When he stared into Betsy's wide, green eyes, Chase felt something within him shift. The weight of centuries lifted from his broad shoulders, replaced by a new purpose. Protecting the forest had been his duty, his entire reason for being, for longer than he cared to remember. But now, looking at this small, fragile human who smelled of home and belonging, he realized his true role had only just begun.

"This cannot be," he rumbled, his voice rough from disuse. Speaking the human tongue felt strange after so long communicating only with the whispers of wind through leaves and the subtle songs of the earth. "You are human. I am a sasquatch."

Betsy's eyes widened further, if that was possible. Her mouth opened and closed, no sound emerging. Under different circumstances, Chase might have found her fish-like gaping amusing. Now, it only served to emphasize the vast gulf between their worlds.

He took a step closer, nostrils flaring as he drank in more of her intoxicating scent. "Do you know what you are to me, little one?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less intense. "Canyour human mind comprehend the bond that fate has woven between us?"

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