Fridays After Dark: Marcel Manor Part 2

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

Marcel Manor (Lunatic Moon Series) by Mandy M. Roth continues… (remember you can’t get this version anywhere but here. Also, this page is set up for those 18 years and older. If you are here and not at least 18, please leave.)


“Tsk. Tsk,” Maker scolded with a wave of his hand. It was as if he had grown bored with the sight of so much death in his long existence. Maybe he had. “You know as well as I that I gave you life.”

“You gave me darkness and death. Nothing more.” Fangs exploded in his mouth, piercing his lower lip. Rage overtook him, and he wanted to kill like his body was capable of in its transformed state. “I am a killer. A monster! Look upon what you made me do.”

“No, old friend. This is not my doing.” Maker’s lips set in a grim line. “You did this to yourself. Did you think you could outrun the demon within you? That you could restrain its needs and desires?”

He had hoped. Each day since he had become one with a demon, Marcel had prayed to a God who did not listen—hoping to find salvation, forgiveness and an end to his torment.

Staring around, he knew better. God had turned his back on him, as he should. Marcel was now a demon. An abomination.

He’d stumbled upon the barricade with the intent of merely taking the edge off his hunger. He had done far worse than that. He’d fed the hunger so fully, so completely, that he’d lost himself in it somewhere during it all. The lines between himself and the demon had blurred to the point the man was no more.

Maker bent, retrieving Marcel’s discarded top hat. He held it up, gleam shining in his eyes as droplets of the deads’ life substance dripped from it. He arched a brow. “Wish to salvage it, or shall we consider it a loss? More is the pity. It is such a fine hat.”

The hat was the least of Marcel’s worries. Reaching out, he came into contact with the victim closest to him. A woman. Young. Pretty at one time. Her life now snuffed out because of his inability to control the demon he shared his body with.

“The city is not as it was, Marcel,” Maker acknowledged. “It is filth.” He kicked at a dead body, pushing it away from him. “It is a maze of alleys so profoundly dark even our eyes have to strain.” Tilting his head, he sent waves of long brown hair falling freely over one shoulder. “It is overcrowded. You know as well as I that death is imminent for them anyways.”

“Life is precious.”

“Life is short for them, but not for us. Embrace what you are, or something darker will embrace you.”

Slumping his shoulders, Marcel did his best to sound out the man. His words cut through him, slicing at his very being. The truth always did.

(Look for my next turn and I’ll continue where I left off…)