The next morning, Wren awoke to the sound of clattering dishes. He pushed himself upright and turned to see a strange-looking girl standing beside his bed. She wore a maid’s uniform and was setting a tray of food onto the bedside table.

When she noticed he was awake, she paused, and then turned to look at him.

She was pale with a smattering of freckles across her nose and had the largest and strangest eyes Wren had ever seen. Her eyes were oddly shaped and about three sizes too large. They were oval like an egg, with the wider side slanted upwards. Her pupils were small dots in the whites of her eyes and she had no irises to speak of.

Other than her strange eyes, she looked completely human.

“The young Master told me to bring you something to eat.” She said, her voice musical and oddly enchanting. “You’ll be needing your strength to stay well.”

Ash had ordered for this servant to take care of him?

Wren thanked the girl as she lifted the tray from the bedside table and situated it onto his lap.

“You were terribly ill last night.” The maid informed him.

Wren was a little taken aback at having someone other than Ash to talk to. The little impish servant from the previous day had not spoken one word to him, only gesticulated in a sort of hand language that Wren had never seen before.

“You nursed me, then?” Wren asked, intending to thank her, but she immediately shook her head in a negative.

“Nay, milord, Master Ash nursed you himself.” She spoke with a strange sort of accent Wren didn’t recognize. “Stayed with you most of the night, he did. I’ve never seen him so tak-“

“You know father doesn’t like gossiping among the help, Naia.”

Both Wren and the maid quickly looked up to see Ash standing in the doorway of Wren’s room. The redhead leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a disapproving frown curving his lips downward. Still, the disagreeable demeanor did nothing to mar his good looks.

“Pardon me, sir. I didn’t mean no harm.” The maid apologized.

Ash smiled at the maid and Wren thought it might be the most devastating thing he’d ever seen.

Really? Where did that thought come from? The man was practically keeping him prisoner here! A gilded cage, but still a cage… Had the fever completely gone to his head?

“No harm done.” The redhead said dismissively as he waved the maid out the door. “Now off with you! Shoo!”

With a reserved smile, Naia gracefully curtsied first to Ash and then to Wren before she disappeared out the door, accompanied by the soft rustle of her uniform’s skirt.

“She’s a nattering thing, but she and Ungi won’t abuse you in any way.” Ash said as he stepped closer to Wren’s bed.

Ungi? That must have been the little imp-like creature from yesterday.

“How are you feeling?” Ash asked.

Wren studied the food in front of him. The tray was laden with delicious breakfast cuisines. Pancakes with butter and syrup, bacon and sausages, scrambled eggs, a bowl of fruit and whipped cream, and three different types of muffins. In addition to the food, he’d been given both orange juice and milk to drink.

“Much better.” He said.

He really did feel better than the day before. He’d no idea how he’d had such a quick recovery after having felt so terrible the night before.

“She said you nursed me?” Wren said, still looking at the food on his tray. He shyly looked up at Ash from beneath his lashes. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you were a hassle.” Ash flopped onto the bed, and after a briefly study of Wren’s breakfast tray, he picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it. Wren saw a flash of the redhead’s incisors but forced himself to tear his gaze away from Ash’s lips. He remembered the very vivid dream from the night before and when they’d first met in the chapel. Wren had firsthand knowledge of how those lips felt against his own.

Wren picked up the fork and pushed the scrambled eggs around on his plate. He looked up to find Ash watching him. The man’s amber eyes were hypnotic even in the light of day and Wren had to force himself to look away.

“If you don’t eat, I’ll assume you’re still feeling poorly and I’ll have to give you another dose of medicine.” Ash said. Wren looked up in response.

“Medicine?”

“Mmm… gave it to you last night.” Ash said noncommittally as he swiped more of Wren’s food, this time a strawberry out of the bowl containing a mixture of ripe red strawberries, tiny purple champagne grapes, and slices of Granny Smith apples.

Ash dipped the strawberry into the whipped cream, bit into it, and sighed as if it were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. The redhead refocused his attention on Wren as he slowly licked strawberry juice and whipped cream from his lips. “You really should try one of these. Their ripe and juicy.”

He picked up another strawberry from the bowl, dipped it in the cream, and held it before Wren’s lips.

Wren glared at him and then began popping champagne grapes into his mouth. The juice from the tiny grapes burst on his tongue, both tangy and sweet when he bit into them. They were delicious.

“I don’t like strawberries.” He lied. They were one of his favorites.

“Pity.” Ash said as he bit into the strawberry he’d offered Wren. “Ah well, finish all of your food.”

“Except the strawberries.” Wren persisted.

Ash smiled, his incisors making him look predatory. “Except the strawberries.”

Wren suddenly wanted him off the bed and out of the room.

“You can go. I’m truly feeling better now.” Wren said. He paused, his curiosity getting the best of him. “What sort of medicine did you give me anyway?”

Ash grinned as he leaned closer to Wren. His expression was conspiratorial as his lips moved dangerously close to brushing against Wren’s ear.

“Suppository.” He whispered.

And Wren choked on the grapes he’d been eating.

It took him a moment to catch his breath. By the time he had, Ash was sprawled back on the bed, laughing at Wren’s red-faced look of angry embarrassment. Wren had to admit, the man had a beautiful laugh and any other time, he might have enjoyed hearing it. Right now, however, he wanted nothing more than to pummel the redhead.

“Get out!” Wren ordered as he picked up a pillow and threw it at the still chuckling Ash, who deftly caught it in midair and set it aside as he rolled off the bed and onto his feet.

“I’m glad you are feeling better, little bird.”

“I said, get out!” Wren ordered again, this time louder. He searched for something else to throw, but Ash had already moved to the door, taking his enchanting laughter with him.

“Now, now, don’t get your tail-feathers all ruffled…” The redhead chided as he opened the door and stepped into the corridor. He closed the door behind him, just narrowly missing the teacup that Wren launched at him.

                                                          * * * *

About a half-hour later, Wren got up, tapped on the armoire as Ungi had done, and was greeted by a new set of clothing. He quickly got dressed and made his way out into the green wall-papered corridor.

He’d barely taken three strides down the lengthy corridor when he began to suspect that he wasn’t alone. He looked first down the length of the corridor ahead of him and then looked over his shoulder to see if there was anyone behind him, but the long stretch of green wall-paper and checkered floors was empty save for himself.

Still, he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched.

He was certain of it when he heard a door suddenly slam shut behind him. He spun around but saw no one. Then, another door slammed behind him.

Door after door opened and then closed, but no matter how fast he turned, he couldn’t catch the culprits in the act. He swung around just as another door slammed shut, barely missing whomever it was doing it.

He started moving along the corridor at a brisk pace, attempting to ignore the opening and closing of doors behind him. He told himself it only sounded as if the noise of slamming doors was steadily getting closer.

Suddenly, two arms wrapped about his middle and Wren found himself dragged into an opened doorway. He cried out in alarm and grabbed onto the doorframe in the hope of deterring his captor, but the being that held him in its grasp was far stronger than he – supernaturally strong – and he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Wren’s fingers scrabbled at the doorframe, but whoever held him gave another hearty tug at his middle and Wren lost his hold on the doorframe. He was jerked into a room completely black with darkness and he saw the light from the corridor disappear as the doorway slammed shut before him.

Wren was placed onto his own feet. He felt a push against his shoulder and he stumbled forward. He sensed that there were others around him. He heard the rustle of their clothing and felt one or two brush against his arm or shoulder as he was led down an endless black corridor.

Finally, a door opened, and light was let in. Wren was forced to lift his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light and then he found himself led out into a familiar surrounding.

He was in the garden, except he was further than he’d ventured previously. So far, in fact, that he stood before what looked to be the entrance of the hedge maze.

People surrounded him. Well, most of them seemed to be people. He couldn’t really be sure because some of them wore masks. Terrifying masks that looked to be some amalgam of Venetian carnival mask and pure nightmare fuel. Others, Wren was positive, were bestial in nature and so far removed from being even remotely human that no mask was needed.

They were laughing and talking amongst themselves as Wren stood amidst them. He was surrounded and growing more alarmed by the moment. Wren moved to try and elbow his way past a couple of the smaller masked revelers but found himself pushed back into their midst. He tried again, only to have it become some sort of twisted game as he attempted to flee the inner circle and they shoved him – each time more roughly than the last – back into their midst. Wren felt panic threaten to take over as they moved to form a tighter circle around him and slowly began to close in.

Suddenly, their fun was interrupted by a loud whooping cry and Wren turned to seen that a couple of masked individuals had hoisted another person onto their shoulders. For a moment, Wren thought they had kidnapped some other poor soul.

Then, he recognized that head of auburn hair.

The two holding Ash on their shoulders began chanting and soon the rest of the assembly joined in, turning a single word into a litany that sent chills down Wren’s spine.

“Hunt!... Hunt!... Hunt!...”

Ash gracefully hopped down and, almost as soon as the redhead’s feet had touched the ground, the masked revelers closest to him swarmed him, ripping and tearing at his clothing, attempting to strip him.

Wren released a cry, genuinely concerned, but before he could move to try and help, Ash suddenly held up both hands and the assembly quieted. Those tearing his shirt to shreds halted in their actions and they waited as if with baited breath for him to speak.

Wren had thought Ash to be captured and in danger, but it appeared that, not only was the redhead “not” in danger, but he was their leader.

Ash looked directly at Wren. And then threw his hand into the air and released a staggering shrill that resembled a cross between a war cry and the shriek of a night owl. The revelers followed in turn and then there was chaos. Wren found himself surrounded by chanting and the rattling of some form of primitive percussion instruments. He was lost in the swarm of revelers as they swirled and danced around him as if drunk on some form of primeval madness. Wren suddenly jerked when he felt a hand touch his shoulder and he spun around to face Ash.

The redhead was standing beside him, still garbed in his jeans and now shredded shirt. The material hung off his body in strips, showing a fair amount of smooth, tanned skin.

Wren stepped closer to Ash when one of the revelers bumped into him and Ash chuckled as he took Wren’s wrist and pulled him closer. A muscled arm slid around Wren’s waist to hold him securely at Ash’s side. They were standing nearly chest to chest and Wren watched with wariness as the group of masked carousers swarmed around them.

“What does ‘Hunt’ mean, exactly?” Wren asked, instinctively pressing closer to Ash to avoid a reveler who twirled too close.

“Ever heard of the Wild Hunt?”

Wren looked at Ash with wide eyes. “The Wild Hunt?”

“Well, not ‘the’ Wild Hunt. This is more of a reenactment, if you will. There hasn’t been an actual Hunt in several hundred years.” Ash answered off-handedly as he studied the damage to his shirt.

“Damn. And I liked this one.” The redhead muttered.

“So, they want to reenact it… like… now?” Wren wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“Yes, but with some alterations. Traditionally, the quarry of the hunt were moss people.” Ash explained.

“Moss people?” Wren had never heard of such a thing and he lifted one eyebrow skeptically.

“Mmm…” Ash said. “Delicate, fragile little beings… but they’re also fleet of foot and quite shrewd, so they make excellent quarry.”

“What happened to them after the hunt was over?” It seemed like unpleasant business for the moss people, to be turned into an object to be chased, just for the sake of a game.

“Traditionally?”

“Traditionally.” Wren echoed.

“They were ripped apart and fed to the assembly.”

Wren was taken aback and appalled. He felt sickened. Ash said it so matter-of-factly, as if he cared not for the lives taken during these hunts.

“But the reenactments are done to symbolize the marriage of the Horned One with the Mother Goddess. As a marriage ceremony, such hunts are… somewhat different.”

Ash moved closer, both arms encircled Wren’s waist and the taller male tightened his embrace as if he were preventing Wren from taking flight. Ash smiled down at Wren, his sharp incisors on full display. “During a marital reenactment of the hunt, only the husband devours the bride.”

That got Wren’s attention. He blinked stupidly at Ash, not believing his own ears.

“Huh?” He really couldn’t come up with a better way to verbalize his befuddlement.

“The Hunt ends with the capture and ravishment of the bride by the husband in front of the entire hunting assembly.” Ash explained bluntly.

“But… but, your father… and the priest said…”

“I know.” Ash stripped off what was left of his shirt, leaving his skin bare to Wren’s gaze. “Maybe that’s why I’m so keen on doing it?”

                                                            * * * *

The Marraige Interloper will take a short break until after the Writer’s Camp has ended and the winners announced. If you’ve enjoyed the story so far, please subscribe to support me. 

The story isn’t over! These’s much more to come for Ash and Wren! Please come back in May!

Bonus: Can you guess what book Ash is holding? Hint: If you can zoom in, you can sort of make out the blurry beginning of the title...