Fridays After Dark: Marcel Manor Part 1

Welcome to Fridays After Dark—a joint project between Yasmine Galenorn and Mandy Roth.

I thought I’d share a small portion from the expanded (nearly double in length from its original release) version of Marcel Manor (Lunatic Moon Series) by Mandy M Roth. You cannot buy this version anywhere. You can only get it here.

Darkness twisted his soul. Her light found way to his soul.

Chapter One

Paris, 1848

Marcel twisted, his body heaving as he stared at the carnage around him. What had he done? He remembered happening upon the barricade, something that had began to appear more and more in the city since the fighting began, but he remembered little beyond the thirst. There had been so many people at the barricade, in such a riled state of being. The anger. The burning hate. The emotions had fueled the monster within him.

Blood coated his hands, dripping as if he had bathed in it. His redingote was slick with the thick liquid. Portions of it were already beginning to dry. Denial wasn’t possible. The evidence was all over him, as were the dead. They spoke volumes without saying a single word. The horror of their final moments remained etched on their faces, forever locked in agony and anguish. He’d caused their pain, their suffering, their deaths.

“I warned you.”

Looking up, Marcel found the enemy was closer than he had been in five and a half decades. He hissed, spittle flying free. He knew no name beyond the Maker for the being before him. Long ago, he’d lured Marcel from a coffeehouse, promising adventures the likes of which one could not imagine. The country had been in chaos, the death of Louis XIV still fresh, and the makings of a new France were underway. Marcel had been a fool, believing himself worldly and that his family’s wealth would protect him from anything.

Money and power could not touch the darkness Maker had shrouded Marcel’s life with. The darkness had swallowed him whole, pulling him down to the depths of hell on Earth.

Eternal damnation.

Maker’s smile was wide and knowing. He swept an appraising glance over the bodies. “Nice technique. I could not have done better myself, son.”

Son. The word made Marcel cringe. He was not of Maker’s loins, but rather an abomination born from a bite—from shared tainted blood.

How could Marcel have lost control to the degree his demon had harmed so many? Maker had told him decades ago something of this magnitude would occur. That Marcel would not be able to fight the pull of darkness forever. He’d known, and Marcel had ignored the warnings, or rather taunts. He’d assumed himself more powerful, more secure with what he’d become. He was anything but. He hated himself and the demon he carried within. More to the point, he hated Maker—the man who had sired him.

Marcel’s fingernails lengthened once more as rage consumed him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, almost deafening as the demon struggled for freedom. It wanted a pound of flesh from Maker. So did Marcel. “I am not your son.”

(Look for the next time I share… I’ll continue where I left off here.)