Dear Readers,

I wanted to give you a little update on the journey ahead.

My original plan was to publish the entirety of Act II here on Substack before shifting my full attention toward preparing Marked By Light for its Amazon release this October. Unfortunately, life had other plans. Between my work schedule and everything that goes into preparing a debut novel for publication, I’ve realized I need to make a difficult decision.

Episode 25 will be the final episode of Act II published here on Substack—for now. And yes... I’m afraid I’m going to leave you on a cliffhanger.

As much as I wanted to continue posting every chapter, I also want to make sure I have enough time to give the final chapters the attention they deserve before the novel is released. That means focusing these next few months on writing, revising, editing, formatting, illustrations, and all of the behind-the-scenes work that comes with bringing Marked By Light into the world. I also plan to share much of that process with my patron subscribers.

I know cliffhangers can be cruel, and believe me, this wasn’t the plan I had imagined. But I’d rather pause here and deliver the strongest possible version of this story than rush the ending.

Thank you for reading, commenting, and falling in love with Edythe and Troy alongside me. I cannot wait for you to experience the rest of their journey when Season One of Immortals Intertwined: Marked By Light launches on Amazon this October.

We’re getting so close now.

Until next time,

MK Romero 💛

✧ Last Episode before it’s full release on Amazon: Episode Twenty Five: The Weight Of What’s Hidden

✧ New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→ Desired. Never Possessed. Or visit the full episode index here → Season One Index

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Previously on Marked by Light…

With Troy gone, Edythe Bellerose finds herself unraveling thread by thread. Every rumor that Vivian may attend the Winter Solstice Dance with him feeds a jealousy she can barely contain, while an even worse possibility begins haunting her: Troy has an entire life in 2008, one that may already include someone else. After three almost-kisses and nights spent hoping he’ll suddenly reappear, Edythe can no longer pretend his absence doesn’t hurt. She misses him. Wants him. And for the first time, she allows herself to imagine having the kind of love with Troy she’s spent so long fearing fate might choose for her.

But when Tabitha summons Edythe to her home, a surprising invitation to spend Christmas together and the revelation that she’s expecting a son named Gareth quickly give way to the confrontation Edythe has been dreading. With Troy’s abandoned journal in Tabitha’s possession and the truth of the love draught finally between them, Tabitha begins asking questions Edythe isn’t ready to answer. Does she have feelings for Troy? Has she been dreaming of him? Is he the one fate has chosen for her? Edythe refuses to surrender the one thing she’s fought so desperately to protect. If she and Troy are ever together, it will be because they choose each other. Because they love each other. Not because fate decided it for them.

Episode 25: The Weight of What’s Hidden

Before Edythe left her sister’s house, Tabitha had offered her a deal. A trade. Truth for the journal.

At first, she kept quiet. Didn’t admit to anything. Not to Tabitha. Not when opening up meant surrendering her control of it. But Troy wanted the journal. That much she was certain of. She didn’t know why, only that he did. And that knowledge alone had been enough to make her bend. And, so, early that morning, before leaving for fall break, Edythe returned to Tabitha’s with the smallest truth she could survive giving.

That she had one dream. Just one.

Pleased, Tabitha handed her the journal. But that smug, knowing look on her sister’s face had left Edythe reeling. She insisted the dream meant nothing. That he was nothing more than a crush. A flicker of imagination. Lies, obviously. Bitter ones she hated speaking, because they weren’t meant to convince herself. They were meant to keep her sister out of something Edythe was only just beginning to claim as her own.

Now, back at her father’s Oak Park townhouse, Edythe sat curled on the floor beside the hearth, the room dim and warm, the golden glow flickering across the journal’s blank pages. She’d flipped through it a hundred times, trying to understand it. Trying to understand why it mattered so much to Troy.

She kept thinking back to the first night in the library. The argument about Lycans and Vampires. His voice, sharp and shaking. That look in his eyes—deep pain that was buried but unmistakable. A vampire had obviously hurt him. Or someone he loved. Family, perhaps?

Edythe’s gaze drifted to her father, dozing in his armchair nearby. He’d worked with vampires most of his life—they’d helped his career expand quietly in the shadows, and in return he’d conducted and negotiated their affairs, keeping secrets never meant for daylight. And yet, nothing terrible had ever happened to him.

She tightened her grip on the journal as Tabitha’s painful warning replayed in her mind. “You must be careful” She had said. “…You don’t know him—his family, where he’s from, or how dangerous he could be.” And as much as Edythe hated to admit it, Tabitha was kind of right. She didn’t know Troy. Not entirely. And the truth of it stung. Because wasn’t he who always asked about her, about Tabitha, about her interests? And yet she’d never asked about him. About where he came from. About who he’d lost. She’d been so wrapped up in her own feelings, that she hadn’t noticed how one-sided it all suddenly seemed.

Turning the page, she bit down on her bottom lip, shame curling low in her stomach. For the first time, she truly wondered, Am I really that self-centered? For most of her life, she’d told herself telepathy made her more understanding. Now she saw the truth: it had made her dependent. It’d made her assume she knew people without ever needing to ask. It let her appear insightful on the outside… when maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was just a girl pretending to be wise because she could cheat her way into people’s thoughts. And with Troy, she couldn’t cheat. She hadn’t even tried to understand him the proper way.

Her father looked up then, noticing the crease in her brow. “Honey, what is it you’re reading?” he asked, glasses slipping dangerously low on his nose.

“A journal that Tabitha gave to me.”

He stretched out a hand.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what makes it special,” she said placing it into his palm.

“Tabitha gave this to you?” he asked.

“Yes. Why? Do you recognize it?” She replied, watching him closely as he turned the pages—slowly, carefully, like he was searching for something specific.

He flipped through it with a thoughtful hum, and then he hesitated; just slightly. He knew something. And he was deciding how much of it to say aloud. “It looks like… an enchanted relic. Very rare. If I remember correctly, they’re called Twin Flame Journals.”

Edythe sat up straighter. “So it comes in pairs?”

“Yes. They were created for communication between two fated mates separated by a dark, unbreakable bond.” He exhaled softly, as though remembering something distant. “The last time I saw one was in my youth, when I defended an Egyptian wizard charged with selling illegal dark magic. This is a powerful artifact.”

Twin Flame Journals? Communication between fated mates? For a moment—just a moment—she almost smiled. Then she thought, had Troy wanted them connected across time? Across two centuries? He must’ve. Right? He has to have the other one in 2008. It’s the only logical reason he wanted to show me the journal. Why it was so important for him that night? A soft, foolish hope fluttered in her chest. Could it be possible he isn’t courting anyone in his own time? Please, she prayed inwardly, let this mean something. Let this be proof of his feelings.

“How interesting…” Her father murmured, “…that your sister would come across it and give you one.”

“Interesting? How so?” She replied almost absentmindedly as her eyes remained fixed on the journal. With hope curling up and around her heart she started imagining the jagged, beautiful scrawl of Troy’s handwriting bleeding across the page. Waiting for her to respond back. She pressed her fingers into her skirt to keep from snatching it out of her father’s hands.

Her father sighed, pride and worry tangled in his voice. “Your sister wants to rekindle a relationship with you.”

Blinking, Edythe recalibrated her gaze. The concern was clear. Reaching up, she touched her father’s weathered hand. “Don’t worry. Tabitha could never persuade me against you.”

Leaning over, he kissed her forehead; the touch gentle but heavy with unspoken fears. “If you don’t mind, my darling, I’d like a client of mine to examine it. If it is what I believe it to be, relics like this can attract darker forces—the sort of creatures who thrive on longing.”

Her heart plummeted, but she didn’t protest.

As he tucked the journal into his briefcase, a sharp pang of guilt pierced her, remembering the look on Troy’s face when they’d lost the journal in the library—vivid and stinging. He’d fought to keep them connected. And now… she’d failed him. Again.

“Edythe?” Her father said quietly, pulling out a small envelope sealed with a cerulean wax crest. For a heartbeat, he seemed to debate with himself whether or not to hand it over. Then, with a resigned breath, he offered it to her. “This is for you, my dear.”

With a curious smile in place, Edythe accepted it, broke the seal, and unfolded the note. Then read,

My Darling,
Let’s have a night of music, mulled wine, and gossip before you return to school. It’ll be a glimpse of eternity. Meet me at sunset. I’ll be waiting at the Lotus Lantern.
—N.

Edythe quickly looked towards the window. Blast! It was nearly sunset. She turned to her father, bewildered. “Why didn’t you give this to me earlier?”

“Forgive me. It slipped my mind.” He replied, touching his temple. It was clearly a lie. But she didn’t have time to question it. In a rush, she hurried to her room, dressed warmly, and left the house with a thrum of urgency in her ribs.

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After awakening in the abandoned Melissandre House of 2008, Thaddeus Troy Pacetti is forced to confront the painful reality that Edythe Bellerose has been gone for more than a century. Though every instinct urges him to return to her, the memory of their almost-kiss only hardens his resolve. If she ever discovers the truth about his Radiant bloodline, she’d become a target for every vampire hunting him. No matter how deeply he’s fallen for her, Troy realizes he can never allow himself to love her. Protecting Edythe means walking away from the only future he’s ever wanted.

Back in 1848, Edythe awakens to an empty room, her heart sinking as she realizes Troy has time traveled once again. Though she hides every trace of the night they’d shared together before Charlotte arrives, she can’t hide the truth from herself any longer. After weeks of denying the pull between them, Edythe finally gives voice to the one thing she’s been too afraid to admit. She doesn’t just like Troy. She likes him more than she’s ever liked anyone before.

Episode 24: Thread By Thread

The sewing room had been Edythe’s refuge—her one quiet place to breathe, to pour her hands into something steady when her heart wasn’t. But today, even here, Vivian’s laughter trailed in with two girls desperate to orbit her, chattering about trims and silhouettes for the Winter Solstice Dance.

Edythe lowered her gaze, pinning it to the neat line of measurements before her, willing her hands not to tremble. She wouldn’t give Vivian the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. Yet she felt her circling, slow and deliberate, around her mannequin. Like a queen at a fitting, every step claimed more of the room.

“He already asked me,” Vivian said, just loud enough for the others to hear. “We made plans before he got into trouble.” A bold-faced lie. One Vivian delivered like a secret, whispered just loud enough for Edythe to hear and then repeated and again until the others started believing her. The young men, of course, didn’t care if Vivian was lying. They ran with it, spreading her story like wildfire, using it to tease, taunt, and fuel for the ladies still waiting on edge for Troy to return and ask them to the dance.

Edythe, however, didn’t roll her eyes or let her mask crack even for a second. But on the inside? On the inside, she was coming apart, thread by thread.

Her pencil stilled mid-line as her eyes fell shut as a worse thought arose. Gods, what if he was courting a girl in 2008? After all, hadn’t Troy pulled away from kissing her three times already. First in the library, then in the hall after the mixer; well, that one was both of them. But he definitely pulled away in the garden. Three almost kisses, and neither of them could close the distance. Edythe hated to think it. But no matter how hard she tried not to, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head that he’d already given that kiss to someone else. And why wouldn’t he have? He was twenty years old, for goodness’ sake. He lived a whole other life in another time. Obviously, with another girl. Heat flushed through her, hot and humiliating.

Now she was sitting at her desk, designing dresses for girls who wanted to attend the Winter Solstice with Troy—her Troy. Gods, she hated Vivian for speaking his name so carelessly. Worse, she hated herself for how much she missed him. Every night since he left, no matter how much she tried to convince herself they weren’t soul tied, she imagined him breaking through reality at the edge of her bed, with his shirt open, his hair a mess, smiling like he belonged there. She’d imagine him whispering, “You awake, Edy?” Though there’d be no need to wake her. She always was. Waiting. Hoping he’d reappear.

The sewing room door creaked open. Anna, a third-year, poked her head in, breathless. “Miss Bellerose? The Headmistress wants to see you. Right away.”

Edythe set her scissors aside and brushed the stray threads from her lap. What did Tabitha want this time?

By the time she reached her sister’s residence, the sky had already begun its descent into gold.

The house that belonged to Tabitha looked as though someone had plucked it from the French countryside and placed it onto the dunes of the Outer Banks. A magically grand, symmetrical manor of pale limestone and mint-green shutters. Everything about it was intentional. Tall, tapered cypress trees framed the columned entrance. The boxwoods, shaped like teardrops and towers, were carefully groomed by the gardeners. Golden shells lined the gravel path that led to the great oak doors, crunching lightly beneath her heels.

A warm breeze drifted through the hedges, carrying ocean salt and magnolia bloom. Somewhere beyond them, she heard the distant thunder of unicorns racing along the shoreline behind the house, their silver-tipped hooves striking wet sand in a wild, wordless rhythm.

Edythe paused just before the door. The last time she and Tabitha spoke, Tabitha cornered her and forced her to drink a love draught to reveal whether she was soul-tied. And no doubt Professor Hawthorne had reported the results by now. This summons was almost certainly about that. The anger from that day surged back to life within her. She exhaled, letting out her nerves, smoothing her dress. Her sister will most likely demand another test. Another intrusion, to pry out who she was soul-tied to. If she does, I’ll refuse, she thought. It isn’t any of her business. And truthfully… I didn’t want to know. Even if it is Troy. Especially if it is Troy. Please, for gods sake, let me hold on to my free will for as long as possible.

After a few breaths, Edythe lifted her hand to knock—the door creaked open first.

“Miss Bellerose,” said the short house-elf, “The Headmistress is in the sunroom.”

Edythe nodded, then stepped inside.

The interior was every bit as beautiful as the outside; softly lit hallways lined with warm oak trim, the scent of citrus polish and old books lingering in the air. Coastal wind drifted through open windows, stirring sheer curtains like breath. The house was quiet. Not from absence, but from contentment. Like it had nothing left to prove.

She followed the familiar path with no need for directions. Past the central staircase with its polished rail, through the library arch with its tall, paned windows, and toward the back, where the real magic always waited. The sunroom. Sunlight spilled across the wide-planked floor, painting the room in gold and glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sea. The waves rolled in a steady rhythm just beyond the dunes, and along the shore, unicorns ran, fluid streaks—manes tossing, hooves flashing against sand. And there, among all that impossible beauty, sat her sister. Tabitha was curled on a velvet settee, draped in soft ivory, her strawberry-blonde hair down for once, laughing at something someone had just said. And beside her… Edythe stopped cold.

Lachlan MacClare, the King of the Lycae clans of both Scotland and the Appalachian Mountains. The last time she saw him, she was ten years old. Back when her sister married him in Scotland. Even now, Edythe resented him for it. To her, Lachlan hadn’t just married her sister. He’d stolen her. Whisked her away from England. Away from her. Once her hero had vanished into a crown of promises that didn’t include her.

Lachlan sat beside her sister, appearing to be a man in his mid-forties, but Edythe knew better. For he was far older. Absolutely ageless, in the way all Lycans were… immortal. Broad-shouldered, with reddish-brunette hair that curled just past his ears and a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face too striking for folklore to claim, he looked more myth than man. His oceanic eyes—somewhere between blue and green—met Edythe’s with calm, watchful intensity. And when he looked at Tabitha, it wasn’t just affection. It was belonging.

Tabitha reached for his hand. Their fingers linked without effort, and something twisted tight in Edythe’s chest. It was exactly what she wanted with Troy. The warmth of his hand in hers, the way his eyes could hold her completely. To look at him like that: utterly captivated, wanted, and cherished. To know, just for a heartbeat, that there was no one else in the world. And she wanted it without the guilt that always followed the wanting, as if desiring him were something she ought to apologize for. As if it were wrong to crave something that felt so achingly, undeniably right.

Straightening her spine, Edythe stepped forward into the room. “Headmistress,” she said evenly, then added with a nod, “Your Majesty.”

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

✧ New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→ Desired. Never Possessed. Or visit the full episode index here → Season One Index

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Previously on Marked by Light…
After secretly bringing Thaddeus Troy Pacetti into Melissandre House, Edythe Bellerose quickly realizes she hasn’t thought through one rather inconvenient detail: changing into her nightgown with him still in the room. What follows is an evening filled with stolen glances, nervous laughter, and enough restraint to drive them both mad. As the walls between them continue to crumble, Troy finds himself wanting far more than a single kiss. But when Edythe confesses she’s listened to the iPod he left behind every night before falling asleep, Troy is unexpectedly moved, promising to share more of his world with her through the music he loves.

As the night draws to a close, Troy falls asleep only feet away from the girl who’s quietly captured his heart. For one reckless moment, he lets himself imagine a life where he doesn’t have to leave her behind. A life where he could wake beside her every morning instead of another century. But dangerous thoughts have a way of becoming dangerous realities. In the blink of an eye, Troy awakens in 2008, alone once again, ripped away from the only place that had begun to feel like home.

Episode 23: The Abandoned Coven

Troy imagined waking up to find Edythe curled in her desk chair, sketching, humming one of the film scores from his iPod. Or still asleep in bed, waiting for him to wake her up. But no—she was long gone from this timeline. And this room, like the rest of the old Melissandre House, had been abandoned ever since the hurricane of the 1920s. The coven rebuilt its new residence farther inland. This place remained sealed and untouched for decades, like a memory the university didn’t dare disturb.

The floorboards groaned under his weight as he crossed to the French doors. Pushing them open, he stepped out onto the balcony. The early morning chill met him first—a soft breeze off the ocean that smelled like salt and then the heaviness of distance. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon. Since no one was up yet, he could watch the sunrise without worrying about anyone witnessing the faint glow beneath his skin.

The view hadn’t changed. The same ocean, sky, and an endless beach stretch. But he was afraid everything else had changed. Because normally, whenever his eyes turned silver, he only knew they’d turned based on the surprised reaction of the other person. Last night, however… well, last night was different. When Edythe twirled her finger, silently commanding him to turn around, he’d actually felt them shift. Felt the magic surge through him like lightning in his veins, felt his pupils bleed to pure molten silver.

Because damn it, he could hear every whisper of fabric, the clatter of her hoop skirt, the gentle rustle as she’d undressed just feet behind him—and fucking hell, it was freaking hot—no, it was more than hot; it was exquisite torture. The kind that made his jaw clench and his hands curl into fists at his sides. He’d wanted to turn around to see her, to cross that room and slip his hands into her hair, tilt her face up to his, and finally—finally—taste her lips. To feel her body against his, and hear the sounds she’d make as he took his time learning every inch of her until she trembled in his arms.

And dragons breath, she hadn’t been horrified as that Freudian slip tumbled out of her. Troy smiled just thinking about it. He didn’t need to play Wampus to know that Edythe was just as affected, imagining the same thing he had been. Him crossing that room. Pulling her into that bed. Making all those unspoken desires devastatingly real. It literally took all the self-control he had left to not make it real.

He blushed at the thought of actually closing the distance when a seagull flew up, landing on the ledge of the balcony. The sun will finish rising in just a few minutes. If the sunlight touches his skin, he’ll turn… He exhaled. I can never close the distance, he thought, no one can ever know about my damn Radiant bloodline. If Edythe had seen…

If the moonlight had actually touched his skin, even for a breath, she would’ve seen him transfigured. Not consumed by flame, but clothed in it—radiant as fire made pure. Unmistakable. Otherworldly. Beautiful in the way holy things are, when they’re not meant to be touched. And anyone watching from a balcony, a window, a shadow? That’s the terror. Exposure. A single slip, and the hunt would begin. Vampires would come. Warlocks would follow. Everyone he loved would become a target. Edythe would become a target. They’d stop at nothing to get to him. They’d take her, harm her, bleed her dry just to draw him out—all for one drop of his blood.

Groaning, he banged his head back against the wall. Once. Twice. Like physical pain could knock some sense into him. Let’s say even if I was selfish enough—stupid enough—to give us a chance to be together, eventually she’d grow to resent me for disappearing unexpectedly. She’d realize the danger of being with someone like you. She’d see what you are—a world-class fucking disaster. A walking curse with a forever bullseye on your back.

No—he needed to save his mother. That’s what he needed to do. Stick to the plan. Find the journal. Get to the Valkyrie coven in Savannah. That’s all that matters. Stay in control. You can’t like Edythe like that. You can’t have feelings and desire for her anymore.

A metallic click echoed from behind him. He froze. Shit. Voices followed. Familiar ones. It was Professor Gareth MacClare and Headmistress Zendaya Holt. Troy edged silently along the balcony frame, just out of sight, pressing his back against the wall. Perfect. Just perfect.

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

✧ New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→ Desired. Never Possessed. Or visit the full episode index here → Season One Index

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Previously on Marked by Light…
After escaping the destruction in the Forbidden Wing, Thaddeus Troy Pacetti has only one goal: get Edythe safely back to Melissandre House before the full moon exposes the Radiant blood flowing beneath his skin. But hiding his secret becomes nearly impossible when she’s only inches away. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every shared breath tempts him to close the final distance between them. And when Edythe finally leans into him, Troy forces himself to do the one thing neither of them wants. He walks away from the kiss, choosing to protect his secret over the girl he’s quickly falling for.

With Professor Esmedora away from Melissandre House, Edythe refuses to let Troy spend the night alone on the beach. Instead, she convinces him to hide within her coven, where he learns he must first earn the queen bee’s approval before crossing its threshold. But as he realizes he’ll wear the same imprinted mark as Edythe, what should’ve felt like a simple tradition instead becomes a quiet moment of intimacy he never saw coming.

Episode 22: Dangerous Thoughts

Edythe slipped through the door first. Turning around, she whispered for him to enter. When he did, she closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The moon filtered into her room through the tall windows and French doors that led out to her own private balcony. Silver light poured across the floor, illuminating the edges of the bed canopy, the velvet cushions on the window seat, and the faint floral embossing on her wallpaper. The room felt like a dream.

With a flick of her wand, a small fire roared to life in the hearth. Then she motioned her wand toward the candles on the mantel. Instantly they glowed to attention, their flames flickering a warm gold. As the light deepened and the shadows fled, Edythe motioned her wand again, this time at the French doors, then the windows. The long curtains swept closed with a whisper of silk, veiling them from the moonlight.

Troy let out a breath with what appeared to be gratitude. She noted his reaction but didn’t know what she’d just saved him from.

Edythe walked across the room to her armoire, the candlelight catching the pale gold sheen of her dress. The fabric shimmered as she moved, casting soft reflections across the floor. As her hand rested on the armoire door—she froze, shutting her eyes. Hard. Gods, I didn’t think this through. The house-elves. They’re asleep. Which meant, she’d have to undress with him in the room.

Biting down on her lip, she slowly turned to glance over her shoulder at him. His eyes were on her. But not just on her. He was scanning her. Tracing every line of her silhouette, from her bare shoulders down the slope of her waist with eyes that were glistening silver. Her stomach tightened, nerves lighting up like fireflies. Look away, she silently begged him.

The moment their eyes locked, they both became beet red in the face. With a nervous giggle, she twirled her finger, casting him a silent command to turn around. He obliged, but not before his silver gaze dropped once more—a slow, hungry gaze down the length of her entire figure. A shaky breath escaped her as he did so.

When he was completely turned, she lifted her wand behind her shoulder, whispering an incantation. Slowly the fabric stirred. Buttons slipping loose, one after another. The dress slid from her shoulders and collapsed in a whispering pool of silk around her ankles. She stepped free of the hoop skirt and its rings; the layers making a soft clatter as she set them gently aside. Only the corset remained. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. Troy was still turned. Relief bloomed in her chest momentarily before she thought, What would I even do if he looked? A swoop, low and treacherous, fluttered in her belly. Lower and lower the flutters went to a place in her body she’d only experienced in her dreams. Dreams she had of him.

Steeling herself, she whispered more magic, and the corset unlaced. As the final ribbon came free, her chest rose, lungs finally expanding with sweet, aching relief.

She turned back to the armoire, her movements quicker now. She picked out a linen nightgown that was a soft, breathable comfort. Slipping it over her head and shimmied into it, she allowed the fabric to settle softly around her ankles. Afterward she reached for her robe, fingers trembling faintly as she tied it at the front—sealing herself back into something safe.

Pulling the pins from her hair, she let her blonde waves tumble around her shoulders, then glanced at her reflection in the armoire mirror. A quick check. A flush on her cheeks. In the mirror, she caught sight of him—still facing away, shoulders tense, hands at his sides, obediently unmoving.

Her heart twisted. He really hadn’t peeked. Not once. Not even when she’d rustled with the ties of her gown or stepped on a loose floorboard that would’ve tempted anyone else to look. She drew in a steadying breath, willing her pulse to calm, willing her thoughts to behave.

“I’m dressed,” she whispered. “You can turn around now.”

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

✧ New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→ Desired. Never Possessed. Or visit the full episode index here → Season One Index

Thank you for helping make this story possible. 💛

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After Charlotte’s unexpected challenge, Edythe Bellerose has no choice but to let Thaddeus Troy Pacetti escort her back to Melissandre House. What begins as playful banter quickly gives way to something far more dangerous as stolen touches, lingering glances, and quiet confessions chip away at the walls she’d built around her heart. Yet just as she finds herself on the verge of surrendering to the undeniable pull between them, the haunting whisper from her dreams returns once more. Soul ties. And with it comes the terrifying reminder that falling for Troy may mean surrendering the very free will she’s fought so hard to protect.

Instead of taking her home, Troy leads Edythe back to the Forbidden Wing, hoping to retrieve the hidden Twin Flame Journal without revealing his true intentions. But when an innocent Wampus challenge unleashes chaos in the Shadow Section, the two are forced to flee collapsing bookshelves with only seconds to spare. As Troy hesitates over the journal he’d risked everything to hide, he makes an impossible choice. He leaves it behind and follows Edythe to safety before the library comes crashing down around them.

Episode 21: Honey and Moonlight

Troy had meant to part from Edythe at the glass doors. Clean nod, clever quip, gone. Simple. Professional. Keep your distance, Pacetti.

Then the boots echoed. More professors. Voices clipped and fast.

“Absolute wreckage—”

“Bookshelves down—”

“Silas summoned the levitation chair to re-shelve half the forbidden wing—”

Edythe didn’t wait. She grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tight through his, pulling them out through the glass doors. Into the night.

Shit. So much for distance. He thought as he ducked low, cursing under his breath. The garden was dimly lit by golden lanterns and flickering sprites, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from what loomed above… the moon, full and damning, like fate had a personal vendetta against him tonight. Of course, it’s a full moon. Why wouldn’t it be? Esmedora’s warning pounded in his skull—no sunlight, no moonlight. If the moonlight touched him; if it laid bare what he really was—his Radiant blood would blaze beneath her eyes like a fucking beacon. There would be no more secrets between them. Edythe would see the truth in his skin. The reason vampires hunted him. The reason everyone he loved ended up dead. She’d never look at him the same again. Because he wasn’t the same. And never would be.

So he hugged the hedges, clinging to the dark as if his life depended on it. Because it kind of did. Every nerve sparking with panic as he whispered in his mind like a desperate prayer: Don’t turn into a human torch. Don’t turn into a human torch. Don’t turn into a human torch.

They moved fast beneath marble arches veiled in vines and roses. The scent was thick, almost choking, as if the night itself wanted to drown them in perfume and grave decisions. Ocean waves whispered from beyond the hedgerow, fountains murmuring like distant voices. It all made the pounding in his head worse. Just get Edy to her house. Just get her safe. Then you can panic.

A female professor’s voice drifted through the garden, close enough to make his pulse spike. Edythe jerked him down behind a magnolia tree, her skirts brushing his leg as they crouched in the hush. He was drenched in sweat. Not from the sprint but from the strain of hiding. Of pretending. Of holding himself together when everything inside him wanted to fracture.

And of course, she kept glancing at him. And, like always, she noticed too much. Her brows pinched, her lips parted like she wanted to ask. Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

His mind snapped back to the library. To the journal, his last thread to his mother’s voice, left behind in the g-d wreckage. Abandoned in the chaos, like everything else he tried to protect. Was it still there? Had it been trampled? Or worse, confiscated by some professor who’d open it and read his desperate, grief-soaked plan? His stomach twisted. He needed to survive this. Past the professors, curfew, and the obvious questions etched all over Edythe’s face. And gods help him, out of the moonlight before it exposed everything. If she finds out about my bloodline because of Jeremy’s recklessness, Troy’s jaw tightened at the thought. He could already imagine what his retaliation would look like, and it wouldn’t be merciful. Focus. One crisis at a time.

As if she sensed his agitation, she leaned closer. Her body brushed his, cool to the touch, soft and maddening. Then her warm scent danced around him: lavender, honey, and innocence wrapped in something he couldn’t name and didn’t want to. Electricity sparked beneath his skin like his body had been waiting for an excuse to explode. Too many feelings were happening at once.

Christ, it was triggering a jump. He bit back a gasp and squeezed his eyes shut, praying the surge wouldn’t take him. Damn it. Not here. Not with her this close. Get her to Melissandre house. Keep her safe. Don’t jump. And gods, please don’t turn into a human torch.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. This was the part of his curse he despised—the way emotion destabilized him, how wanting her made every pulse of magic harder to control. One stray beam on his skin and she’d see the truth in his glow. One slip in concentration and he’d vanish, ripped away from her like he always was. He shut his eyes again, harder this time, wishing sheer will could anchor him in place. Stay. Just stay.

There was only one thing that ever helped. Only one thing slowed the current ripping through him. And that was singing. Without thinking too much about it, he let the melody slip out—Lost by Coldplay. His voice shook on the first note. But the next steadied. And the next. The song crawled out of him like a confession, low and intimate, vibrating in the narrow space between their bodies. Slowly the music pulled him back from the edge. Anchoring him. Grounding him. He felt the shift almost instantly, the magic settling, panic receding, reality solidifying around him again.

Thank the gods. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Edythe watching him, really watching him. Her lips were parted as if she meant to say his name, but nothing came out. Instead, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and, gods, her gaze dropped to his mouth, then fluttered to his eyes, and back again. Measured. Careful. Like she was memorizing him. Like she was choosing him. Don’t. Don’t look at me like that. It’ll make me want to…The air changed to something thicker, warmer, charged. Her breath brushed his cheek, sweet and impossibly close. He could feel her heat, her heartbeat, her wanting. She was trembling inches between them. This is a bad idea. I want to trace her bottom lip with my thumb. To hear the sound, she’d make if I…. No. Stop. This is a terrible idea. But my gods, the way she’s looking at me…

He’d assumed Edythe’s hesitation and avoidance had been about her sister’s concern and disapproval of him. But now, every instinct screamed not to let this moment go. Not this time and definitely not when she was this close. Not to mention everything in him ached for her. You can’t. You know you can’t. The moonlight, he thought. But he was too weak. For one impossible heartbeat, his hand slid up, fingers curling around the side of her neck, warm and sure despite the tremor beneath his skin. His thumb brushed her cheek as if he needed to memorize her before he lost his mind completely.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered shut. Then, in surrender, she leaned into him. Slow at first, then certain and deliberate. It wasn’t a question anymore. It was an invitation. The world narrowed to the space between their mouths. He could feel her breath against his lips, velvety and sweet. Their noses brushed. Her lips parted for him. They were a single heartbeat—one breath—from kissing. Just one more inch…

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Previously on Marked by Light…
The first Friday Mixer arrives, and with it, Edythe Bellerose’s resolve begins to unravel. Determined to keep her distance from Thaddeus Troy Pacetti, she buries herself behind the grand piano while every witch at Unicorn Hill seems intent on capturing his attention. But when she watches Troy invite another girl to call him by his nickname, jealousy surges through her before she can stop it, forcing her to confront a truth she can no longer deny. Keeping her distance hasn’t weakened the pull between them. It’s only made it stronger.

Meanwhile, Troy refuses to let another opportunity slip away. Hoping to draw Edythe out of hiding, he introduces Unicorn Hill to his favorite card game, Wampus, quickly winning over the room with his effortless charm. Yet the greatest surprise comes not from the cards, but from Charlotte Montgomery. After realizing the feelings neither Troy nor Edythe are willing to admit, she issues a challenge neither of them can refuse. Before Edythe can protest, Troy is tasked with escorting her back to Melissandre House, leaving them with no choice but to face the undeniable gravity pulling them toward one another.

Episode 20: Flirting With Fate

When Edythe left the drawing room with Troy, laughter and lingering voices faded behind them, swallowed by the quiet, dimly lit corridor of the main building. The marble floors gleamed beneath floating candlelight, French-blue and ivory tiles polished to a mirror sheen. White columns lined the hall, and beyond the tall windows, oaks swayed beneath a partially covered moon. The faint scent of magnolia clung to the air, a ghost of summer refusing to die.

He walked close. Too close. His shoulder nearly brushed Edythe’s, his hand swinging just near enough that their fingers might’ve touched.

They didn’t. Not yet.

Don’t think about it, she warned herself.

“So,” Troy said, voice low, teasing. “Should I be worried? I counted six wizards practically tripping over themselves to get your attention. One more and we might’ve had a duel.”

Edythe’s dress swayed as she walked beside him.

“Why do you care which young men call on me, Mr. Pacetti?” She asked without so much as a glance up at him.

“Mr. Pacetti?” he echoed, surprised, catching his step. “Well, that was unexpected. Should I assume I’m in trouble, or just demoted to acquaintance status?”

“Like how Miss Cartwright is more than an acquaintance with you?”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed his grin falter, only for a heartbeat, but she saw it: the tightening of his jaw, the restless way he ran his hand back through his hair.

“For the record,” he said lightly, “you didn’t seem to put out by all the attention.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Ah. So you enjoyed it.”

“I enjoyed certain reactions,” she said smoothly, though her pulse betrayed her.

He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I likewise.”

Edythe arched a brow in mock offense.

“You did, did you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She should’ve scoffed or thrown some clever retort. Instead, she looked at him, really looked. The mischief in his eyes had deepened into something else, something that made her chest ache.

Stop it, Edythe. Resist this bloody Soul-Tie, she thought. You have free will.

She, then, quickly reminded herself, Not that you’re Soul-Tied to him.

They reached the intersection near the garden doors, where she should’ve turned away. And would have if his fingers hadn’t brushed hers. Then caught. Warm. Intentional. Feeling his pulse within his palm.

Let go. Let go. Don’t give into fate.

His thumb grazed hers, causing her heart to dip.

Damn him.

“Edy,” he said softly, “I wanted to show you something.”

Breathy, she stuttered, “Show-show me what?”

“Come with me. Just for a moment.”

His storm-blue eyes caught hers, flickering silver.

Charlotte’s voice echoed in her mind. He let Tobias win.

Gathering some composure, she lifted her chin and said, “On one condition.”

“Okay…”

“Did you let Tobias win earlier?”

He smirked but not in a teasing way. More of a soft, shy way. And then replied simply, “Yes.”

“Why?” she blinked.

“Because I know how most of the guys here feel about me. It’s not just the sorcerer rumors. They don’t like that I don’t flinch when they try to size me up or that I don’t try to impress them. Same in my time. Most of them think I’m arrogant.”

She tittered. “Aren’t you?”

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Maybe a little.” Before bumping her shoulder with a quick chuckle that mingled with hers. For a moment, it felt easy. Too easy.

Her gaze lingered on him longer than she should’ve, tracing the pull of his smile, the way it tilted unevenly, and the cleft in his chin. On the verge of biting her lip, she instead quirked a brow. “So you lied. I thought that was against the rules of Wampus.”

“It’s not technically lying. I don’t actually know if I’m a sorcerer. It’s just… I have a special relationship with electricity.”

“Like how your eyes flash silver whenever you’re emotional?” she pointed.

He stilled. Actually stilled before delicately closing his eyes, as if he was wishing he could disappear behind them. Color climbed up his throat, blooming across his cheeks.

And gods… the vulnerability of him, so unguarded, unarmored, hit her like a physical thing. It was so, so attractive. Before she even realized it she’d lifted her hand, fingers brushing the line of his cheek, down to his jaw. Like she needed to feel him to understand what she was seeing.

“Troy…” she breathed, her voice low and velvet-soft.

He opened his eyes. There was only silver. Every emotion he’d never said aloud, right there, reflecting back at her. Raw and unguarded.

She didn’t pull her hand away. He didn’t step back. Time just… held. Suspended around them as if the universe were waiting for their next move.

He leaned in, only a fraction, but it was enough that she felt the the possibility of his mouth on hers.

And then that damn breathy voice from her dreams came. Only she wasn’t dreaming.

Soul ties…

Fear sliced through her. Her hand dropped the second she heard it. Even though every instinct was craving—no screaming to close the space, to stop pretending she didn’t want him. But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t give up her free will. She refused to surrender it. Not yet. Not even for him. It was all she had left.

And Troy. He looked like desire and restraint was at war within him. She knew he wanted to step forward. Like it hurt him not to.

With his jaw flexing he asked again, almost pleading, “Will you come with me?”

“Y-y-yes,” she stuttered.

He took her hand, guiding her down the hall.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

Since discovering she is Soul-Tied, Edythe Bellerose does everything she can to avoid Thaddeus Troy Pacetti. She buries herself in her art, hides behind excuses, and convinces herself that keeping her distance is the only way to protect her free will. But every stolen glance, every dream, and every rainy afternoon spent watching him wait outside her classes only strengthens the invisible pull drawing them together. No matter how fiercely she resists, Troy’s gaze always seems to find hers.

Meanwhile, Troy refuses to give up. Desperate to earn Edythe’s trust, he devises a dangerous plan involving the enchanted Twin Flame Journals, believing they may be the only way to reveal the truth about his family and save his mother’s life. But with Tabitha and Esmedora watching his every move, even hiding a single journal becomes a risk. When an unexpected opportunity finally presents itself at Unicorn Hill’s Friday Mixer, Troy realizes he may have one last chance to reach Edythe. The question is... after everything that’s happened between them, will she let him?

Episode 19: The Slap

The common drawing room hummed with desire barely disguised as conversation. Candlelight danced across the walls while tall windows framed the night, the rhythmic pulse of waves brushing the Outer Banks like a heartbeat against the shore.

And there he was, Troy, leaning against a couch with the casual confidence of a young man who knew exactly how good he looked. Wearing a dark coat with elegant tails, a sky-blue Caelithorne vest catching every flicker of candlelight. His cravat hung loose at the throat. Not messy, exactly. Definitely tempting, like he was sin waiting to happen.

I’ve never wanted to sin so badly in my life, she thought, biting back her bottom lip. No. Stop it. She interiorly scolded herself. You can’t want him. He’s a time traveler. You can’t be soul-tied to a time traveler. He. Is. Not. For. You.

Charlotte pressed a quick kiss to Edythe’s cheek before peeling away, on a mission to drag Beth Kirkland away from her long-standing crush, Rhett Taylor, a pursuit years in the making. Edythe gave her a subtle go get her look before continuing toward the grand piano in the far corner, as if she’d come for that alone.

Sitting down, she lifted the lid and let her fingers hover over the keys for the briefest moment before playing Tennessee. The first notes unfurled through the room, soft and haunting, like the curtain rising on the second act of a theater production.

She didn’t need to look toward Troy to know the girls were gathering around him. She could hear their laughter drifting above the music, bright and grating, and, far worse, their thoughts brushing relentlessly against her mind.

Gods, he’s handsome.

I wonder if he’ll dance tonight.

Maybe he’ll notice me.

Her fingers lingered against the ivory keys a heartbeat longer before moving again.

Ridiculous, she thought. It’s not like I have any claim on him.

Avoiding him for two weeks. She rolled her eyes at herself. That hadn’t helped.

Then she felt it. He’d turned. Not just a glance. His entire body had pivoted toward her, like a compass finding north.

And he wasn’t the only one.

As the melody drifted through the drawing room, several young men gravitated toward the piano like moths to a flame. She allowed them to gather. Let them speak. Let their admiration hum softly around her like the music she was playing.

Ah! Who was she jesting? The moment someone nearby called her, “The Rose of Unicorn Hill,” she reached for a flicker of thought. Something. Anything from Troy. However, like every other attempt before it, she was met with a deafening silence.

Then an airy laugh cut through the music, needling straight into her spine.

Losing the battle over the need to know, Edythe turned her head slightly, finding Vivian Cartwright, a fourth-year witch with porcelain skin and curls as black as night, pressing herself against Troy.

“Oh, Thaddeus, you simply must teach me that conjuration you did in Enchantments,” she purred, leaning in so close he could almost taste her perfume.

Edythe’s jaw tightened. Not because Vivian was beautiful, though she was. But because Vivian was standing exactly where she’d spent the last two weeks refusing to stand.

“Call me Troy,” he offered with a smile.

Without hesitation, Edythe’s fingers crashed against the keys. The discord slicing through the room, cutting conversations in half.

Call me Troy? Was he serious? And here I thought nicknames were intimate, private things between friends.

Edythe’s eyes flashed up, locking with his across the room.

So are they all your friends, then? Every girl who bats her lashes at you? Gods, why do I care? Answer. I don’t.

If all the girls got to call him Troy, then to her he would be Mr. Pacetti.

Lifting her chin, she started playing again. Slower. Colder. Her fingers striking the keys with controlled fury as she pretended to laugh at something Benjamin O’Connor had just said to her.

Over by the fire, Charlotte sat on a velvet settee beside Rhett Taylor. Leaning back, feigning ease, she laughed light. But her eyes? They kept sliding back to Edythe, watching.

My, my, Edythe are you….jealous? I’ve never seen you jealous before.

Charlotte’s gaze motioned from Edythe to Troy and back again, lips curved in the faintest, most smug smile, putting the pieces together. Every glance and tension. The abrupt stops at the piano, the way they both froze whenever one of their names came up in conversation.

Suddenly, Troy stepped away from the couch, addressing everyone, “All right, let’s play a game.”

While every head turned, towards him, his eyes were locked on Edythe, who was still playing as if he didn’t exist. As if that single, jarring chord hadn’t just been for him.

Through the minds of others, Edythe saw him approaching.

He’s closing the distance, she thought, a jolt of panic and pleasure twisting in her stomach.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow still carried. “It’s called Wampus.”

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

✧ New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→ Desired. Never Possessed. Or visit the full episode index here → Episode Index

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Previously on Marked by Light…

Still unsettled by the mysterious potion Headmistress Tabitha MacClare pressed into her hand, Edythe Bellerose turns to Madame Hawthorne for answers. To her horror, the potion is identified as a love draught, leaving Edythe convinced her sister is attempting to dictate her future and rob her of the freedom to choose whom she loves. But as Madame Hawthorne uncovers the potion’s true purpose, an even more unsettling possibility begins to emerge. What if Tabitha wasn’t trying to create love... but prove it already existed?

With no way to escape the truth, Edythe drinks the potion. Her body rejects it instantly, revealing a truth far more terrifying than she ever imagined. She isn’t being forced into fate. Fate has already claimed her. As the echoes of Nixie’s warning settle over her once more, Edythe is left with the one truth she never wanted to face: she is Soul-Tied.

Episode 18: The Gravity Between Us

Since the love draught embarrassment, Edythe avoided Troy whenever she saw him. Not because Tabitha or Professor Esmedora were watching, but because something inside her had shifted in a way, she couldn’t undo.

At the beginning of the term, Nixie had warned her. Love is nothing more than one of fate’s little tricks. It pulls you where it wants you to go. Take your sister, for example. Fated to a Lycan. You don’t want to end up like her, manipulated, dragged in the wrong direction. Back then, Edythe absorbed the warning like theory. Believed she’d be able to stop it before it ever tried to move her. That she’d be able to resist it. She’d even vowed against it.

Now she wasn’t so certain. Because every night she dreamt of Troy.

All-consuming, unrelenting dreams that were somehow getting hotter, deeper, and even more closer to the edge. Troy’s breath on her throat. His tongue entangled with hers. His hands lifting her skirts. And always, that infernal whisper saying, soul ties.

Every morning she’d awake flushed, shaking, clutching the sheets. Each new dream sparked more desire but also more anxiety whenever she actually saw him in the halls. And no matter how desperately she wished the dreams would stop, she still preferred her nights to her days.

Nights were easier. Dangerous all the same, but at least they’d belonged to her.

Days were worse. So much worse. Jealousy flared with every girl who surrounded him. Watching them smile at him. Hearing them say his name. Then their thoughts, dark and shameless, full of lust for him. No matter how many girls preened over him, even when their laughter rang bright and inviting, his gaze always found her.

Why should it bother me? It’s not like we’re... anything, she’d write in her journal.

She stared at the words until the lie became impossible to ignore.

Gods, who am I jesting?

She was unraveling, and she knew it.

Privately, she’d started to keep track of him. Not openly. She wasn’t that reckless. Just a tiny hidden log in the back of her journal. A quiet, damning tally of moments she had no right to catalog. When she’d seen him. What he’d worn. Whether his gaze had found her and how long it lingered. She told herself it was because he’d asked her to. Because she was meant to be his historian. His chronicler. Nothing more.

The lie barely held.

Edythe tried keeping her gaze lowered behind her journal, her sketchbook, idly guiding her pencil over paper, pretending none of it mattered.

But when he started waiting for her outside classes, she’d almost lost all composure.

Again and again she found him waiting outside the arts building, always on clouded, rain-choked days. As if the weather answered only to him.

He’d lean against the stone balustrade, arms crossed, rain plastering his dark brown hair to his forehead, slicking his nineteenth-century coat to his frame until the fabric clung in all the right places. Water traced slow paths down the sharp lines of his shoulders, darkening the shirt beneath until it turned nearly translucent, outlining muscle and strength with shameless clarity.

Her breath caught. Every. Single. Time.

Why is it always on rainy days? And why, gods, why does he have to look so unbearably desirable in the rain?

Whenever he’d lift his head, those stormy blue eyes locked onto her with unnerving precision. Not wandering. Waiting.

Her pulse stuttered, thinking, Has he memorized my schedule? Then her heart would plummet at the thought, Or worse…had something older than either of them arranged it?

She hated him for waiting there, day after day, outside the one building she frequented most. And she loved him for it. She knew he wanted to speak to her. Knew it in the way his posture sharpened when the doors opened. In the way his attention never wavered. As if he were only there for her.

Nixie’s haunting words were always there, reminding her… We are to be desired. Never possessed.

Though the thought twisted her stomach, Nixie was right. She couldn’t allow herself to be possessed. Not yet. Not after the almost-kiss in the library.

That night in the library had been too close of a call. The way his body had caged her in. His gaze dropping to her mouth, slow and deliberate, as if he’d already decided what her lips would feel like beneath his.

How scandalous it would’ve been… letting him have her right there between the shelves, with the world narrowing to a single breath.

And then he’d stopped himself. Not because he didn’t want her. That was the cruelest part. She’d felt it in the way his grip tightened, not to pull her closer, but to keep himself anchored. Fighting something violent and unseen. Fighting time itself in order to stay.

Seeing Troy now, soaked, patient, watching for her, made Edythe want to run to him. And gods, she hated herself for it in equal measure.

Every day for a week she’d slip behind a classroom door, pressing herself against a cold stone wall or ducking behind a tree. Anywhere she could hide before he could reach her. Over and over again she told herself, to keep her distance. Without it, she’d be lost.

To keep from thinking about him, she buried herself in her art: sketches, embroidery, anything that required her hands and left her mind no room to wander. That was until the night of the first Friday Mixer arrived.

The mixers were candlelit, glittering affairs where every coven house spilled into the drawing room to flirt, gossip, sip spiced cider, and hunt for futures they believed were still their own.

She used to imagine it so clearly.

The candles. The laughter. Her future waiting somewhere in the crowd.

Tonight was supposed to be that night.

She had no distraction left.

As she walked toward the common drawing room, she told herself, This is madness, heart thudding painfully. Pure, self-destructive madness.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After an emotional time jump tears him away from 1848, Thaddeus Troy Pacetti crashes back into his own century determined to find another way to defy fate. When his best friend, Pia, introduces him to a pair of enchanted Twin Flame Journals said to connect fated souls across any distance, Troy begins wondering if they might do something even more impossible: bridge time itself.

But every solution comes with a cost. As Troy confides in Pia, she realizes his heart may already belong to someone from another century. Left with both journals and a dangerous plan to contact his mother before her death, Troy is forced to confront a devastating truth. He doesn’t want to use another friend the way he used Pia. Yet Edythe Bellerose may be the only person capable of helping him. For the first time in his life, he’ll have to trust someone with the truth of who he is, why vampires hunt him, and the family he’s spent his entire life protecting. But can he trust Edythe with all of it? Or will trusting her only put her life in danger?

Episode 17: Soul Ties

Potions Laboratory 1848

The scent of crushed lavender, vervain, and simmering broth thickened the air of the potions laboratory. Normally, a warm haze draped itself over Edythe’s nerves. Soothing her. Today it only made her stomach twist harder.

When she slid into her seat beside Charlotte, her back was rigid, expression dumbfounded, and still clutching the potion that Tabitha had pressed into her palm, fingers throbbing from the shock of what’d just happened.

Charlotte’s mind had been full of Troy, bright and curious questions fluttering at the edges of her thoughts; until she finally looked up. The moment she saw Edythe’s face, everything stilled.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“My sister forced this into my hand,” Edythe replied. She opened her hand just enough for Charlotte to glimpse the pearly liquid swirling inside the glass. “And told me to drink it.”

Charlotte leaned in. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“She didn’t tell you what it was?”

Edythe shook her head.

“Tabitha? Commanded you to drink a potion and didn’t tell you what it is or why?”

“Yes,” Edythe hissed under her breath. “And she wasn’t in the mood to be questioned.”

Charlotte’s gaze darted toward the vial. “Your sister has always been intense. But this is unlike her. Truly. Not even a hint of purpose?”

Before Edythe could reply, Madame Hawthorne entered the classroom. Conversations died instantly. Charlotte’s hand covered hers, guiding the vial beneath the table.

“Good afternoon,” the professor said, her voice slicing through the haze as she passed out their graded papers. “I have assessed your essays on liquid memory extraction. Some were commendable. Some were optimistic at best.”

When she placed Leroy Hetcherson’s paper before him, his face fell in disappointment.

The professor continued down the rows, each student reacting to their own grade. The closer she got to Edythe and Charlotte, the louder Edythe’s heartbeat thundered against her ribs, knowing Charlotte was waiting for the right moment.

When Madame Hawthorne reached them, Charlotte lifted her chin and murmured, “Madame, may we request your knowledge? This potion’s purpose is unknown to us.”

Looking down intrigued, the professor replied, holding out her hand. “A dangerous state for any potion. Hand it here.”

Edythe hesitated, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed in their own papers. She slipped the vial into Madame Hawthorne’s waiting hand.

The professor uncorked it, lifted it to her nose, and her entire expression shifted. A flicker of recognition. A tightening around the eyes.

Gods, a love draught. The wizard who gave her this will be expelled.

Immediately Edythe clutched her skirts, closing her eyes in embarrassment, remembering a love draught was non-other than a love potion. And Unicorn Hill had strict rules against love potions. They usually caused obsessions. Dangerous obsessions. Wizards often used them to have their way with a witch against their will.

Madame Hawthorne re-corked the vial with a crisp, controlled snap. Her eyes narrowed. She whispered in a concerned tone, “Tell me, Miss Bellerose, which wizard gave you this?”

Opening her eyes, Edythe whispered, “It wasn’t a wizard, Professor.”

“Then who did?”

I can’t believe this is happening, Edythe thought before exhaling, “My sister.”

“Your sister gave you this?” the professor blinked.

With a mortified frown, Edythe nodded.

“Ahem. I see,” Madame Hawthorne closed her hand around the vial, tucking it away in her skirts, and whispered, “Why don’t we speak about this more at the end of class?”

The moment the professor’s back was turned, continuing down the aisles, Charlotte twisted toward Edythe.

“Did you notice her expression? Almost as if the potion were dangerous. But surely your sister wouldn’t harm you… would she?”

Rage flickered beneath her ribs, hot and humiliating.

“No.” Edythe muttered,“But she might be punishing me.”

“Punishing you for what?” Charlotte asked.

For what, indeed? She remembered Tabitha’s thoughts at the Raleigh platform, her anxiety that their father had introduced her to a suitor. A male she didn’t want. A match she feared. But a love draught? Even for Tabitha, this was extreme. Oh, gods, was she planning to match me with someone? A Lycan, like her?

Edythe shut her eyes, stomach twisting.

Whatever this is, it isn’t guidance. This is control disguised as concern.

Tabitha had abandoned her years ago as a little girl, and now she wanted Edythe to abandon her free will?

Oh my gods, what if I had drunk it? I would’ve fallen for someone against my will? Tabitha has completely crossed a line.

The classroom eased into its final fifteen minutes with a softened shift of energy. Quills scratching, pages rustling, cauldrons dimming to low, contented hisses. Madame Hawthorne allowed the students to work quietly, a reprieve Edythe normally welcomed. Today, it only amplified the roar of her own pulse.

Returning to her desk, the professor opened a thick, leather-bound tome. Candlelight slid over the gilded title, “Elixirs That Bind, Alter, or Influence the Heart.”

As she read, she quietly opened her mind, listening.

Tabitha wouldn’t give Edythe a love draught without cause. So what is her purpose? The professor turned the pages with a soft, steady rasp.

Hawthorne skimmed the text, reading about fated mates.

Within the Lore, fated mates were most commonly found among Lycans, Vampires, Elves, and Faes. However, in the Wizarding world, the couple were known to be, Soul Tied. And if such a bond had begun, a love draught potion would fail entirely.

Hawthorne paused for a moment and thought, Is Tabitha testing to see if Miss Bellerose is soul-tied to someone? The professor glanced up.

Quickly Edythe lowered her gaze to her parchment, feigning focus.

Across the room, Hawthorne’s thoughts continued. This has to be a mistake. Edythe is only twenty. Much too young. And witches do not form soul ties. At least it’s incredibly rare. However, if Tabitha is testing her sister, then that means she suspects Edythe to be Soul-Tied. But what a gamble! Not to mention a severe betrayal from one’s sister.

A cold ripple slid through Edythe’s veins as the dream from earlier that morning resurfaced with startling clarity, remembering the inner voice whispering from within her, soul ties.

Ah! Hang it all! Edythe thought, biting her lip in frustration, just as the hour bell sounded signaling the end of class.

Chairs scraped. Students gathered their things. The classroom dissolved into idle chatter and the shuffle of departing feet.

Subtly, Charlotte squeezed Edythe’s hand and whispered, “I’ll wait outside.” Then she slipped out the door, leaving Edythe alone amid the thinning haze of vervain and simmering broth.

Madame Hawthorne looked up from her desk, gaze steady, as though she’d been waiting for the room to empty.

“Miss Bellerose, if you’ll join me,” she said in a quiet tone, moving towards an enormous cauldron that sat inside a hearth in front of the classroom.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

As Troy Pacetti settles into the 19th century at Unicorn Hill, the people determined to keep him and Edythe Bellerose apart begin pulling at opposite ends of the same thread. While Headmistress Tabitha MacClare warns Troy to keep his distance from her sister and quietly places an unsettling potion into Edythe’s hands, Professor Esmedora Feeny summons her great-nephew away for a private conversation that quickly proves far more personal than either of them expected.

Inside Esmedora’s classroom, the past collides with the future when a devastating Valkyrie vision reveals the death of Troy’s mother. Faced with the impossible knowledge that she is alive somewhere in this century, Troy’s grief overwhelms him. Unable to resist the desperate hope of seeing her one last time, his magic tears through time once again, leaving Esmedora with a chilling realization: the question is no longer whether Troy will try to change fate... but how much of it he will unravel in the process.

Episode 16: Twin Flame Journals

Divination Classroom 2008

Troy landed hard. His boots slammed against polished floorboards, the impact jolting up his legs like a shock wave. In an instant, the weight of the past century vanished; replaced by a rush of cold air and the metallic tang of stardust on his tongue.

Great. Just great. He thought, blinking against the harsh fluorescent glare.

Gone were the velvet curtains, constellation maps, and enchanted scrying bowls of Esmedora’s dramatic lair. In their place: sterile hex diagrams, standardized spell charts, and a professor with crooked spectacles whose monotone voice could bore ghosts back to their graves.

Definitely not Esmedora. And definitely not subtle. Because he stood before an entire classroom full of students, mind you, in complete 1848 finery. Crisp, ruffled linen straining against his chest, silk cravat at his throat, sky-blue waistcoat hugging his torso like he’d just stepped out of a Jane Austen fever dream.

Oh, hell.

One heartbeat of stunned silence. Then, laughter erupted. Snorts. Whispers. Full-on cackling. Students elbowing each other, pointing, already crafting jokes they’d repeat for weeks. Months, probably. He’d never live this down. This would follow him to graduation and beyond.

The professor’s voice sliced through the chaos. “Merlin’s beard! Mr. Pacetti, glad you could finally make your appearance. Please—” He blinked, registering the unusual attire Troy was wearing.

“Fantastic,” he whispered to himself without any hesitation or frown. Didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how close he was to tearing the room apart with his magic that was still humming beneath his skin like a live wire.

Better to control the narrative, he thought. Before anyone can weaponize it against me.

He turned toward the class, toward Pia specifically, with a lazy smirk that felt more like armor than expression, and sang Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. His voice was rich, theatrical and deliberate.

The classroom dissolved into absolute chaos. Pia went beet red, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Mr. Pacetti!” The professor snapped, slamming his palm against the desk hard enough to make the nearest students jump. “Enough with the dramatics. Take your seat before I start deducting points from Caelithorne.”

“Right away, Professor.” Troy executed a sweeping, mocking bow, playing his role to perfection. “Just wanted to share my gift with the class.”

“Five points deducted for interrupting. Sit. Down.”

Worth it, Troy thought, walking past the professor towards the open seat beside Pia, dropping the smirk the second his back hit the chair.

Pia leaned in, her voice pitched low enough that only he could hear, “That wasn’t just a prank.”

He exhaled sharply, “Nope.”

Without a word, she pulled two journals out of her bag. Small, bound in soft black leather worn smooth by time and use. Their covers shimmered with embossed gold flames rising into the curve of a Mobius strip, you know, the endless one-sided loop that went nowhere and everywhere all at once.

She slid one across the table to him with a pen.

Arching a brow, he whispered with his usual cockiness. “Homework? You wound me.”

“Just open it,” Pia murmured, eyes still on the professor as if she were taking notes.

He flipped the cover open, then froze. The question, are you okay, bloomed across the page like ink spilled underwater, appearing from nowhere. Straightening his spine, he darted a glance around the room. No one was looking.

Taking the pen, he scribbled, How?

Underneath his question appeared the word, relax.

Pia was still pretending to be taking notes on whatever boring thing the professor was droning on about.

It’s glamoured, she wrote. I found them in a magical bookshop in Egypt. The shopkeeper called them Twin Flame Journals.

Troy smirked, scribbling back, Sounds dramatic. Perfect for you.

Haha… they’re actually made for fated mates separated by a curse, she responded. Figured that part might sell you.

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grin. Admit it, You just wanted an excuse to write me love notes during class.

Pia’s pen hovered for a beat, then scribbled. Dream on, Pacetti.

His grin widened. “Can’t blame me for trying,” he muttered under his breath.

She didn’t look up, but a smile ghosted across her lips.

I thought maybe you could keep this one. So we can still talk when you time-jump.

The joking drained from him like water through a sieve.

I doubt they’d work across time, he wrote, even though the idea was awfully tempting.

You never know. Does your iPod still work when you jump?

Troy’s heart kicked hard against his chest. Well, shit, they did. Every damn time. Against all logic, against every law of temporal physics, his iPod followed him across centuries like a faithful dog. Songs from 2008 playing in 1848. Coldplay in the age of Mozart.

The idea sent an icy shiver through him. What if ink could bridge centuries? What if he could get in contact with his mother without his aunt finding out?

When class ended, he caught Pia’s wrist before she could escape into the hallway.

Leaning down, he asked, “skip next period with me?”

She replied, blinking up at him, “Since when do you ask nicely?”

“Since now.” He leaned close enough to smell her shampoo. Something floral and warm. “Come on. I need air.”

“You need therapy.” She rolled her eyes.

He grinned, witnessing goosebumps roll up her arms. “Already tried. The therapist ran screaming.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “Where are we going?”

“The beach.”

Lifting her eyebrows suspiciously, she asked, “In this weather?”

He jerked his chin toward the misted window where gray clouds pressed against the glass. “Perfect beach weather. Nobody there to eavesdrop.”

Then, with the mix of irritation and curiosity that he’d counted on, she sighed. “Fine. But if I freeze, you’re carrying me back.”

“Deal.”

When they slipped outside into the cold, the Outer Banks was at its moody best. Ivy clung to the white columns, trembling in the wind. The crosswords creaked beneath their steps that led to the dunes, where the world blurred into gray and silver. For a while, they walked in companionable silence. The sand gave softly under their shoes, gulls cried overhead, and the wind tugged playfully at their hair.

Pia tugged her sleeves down over her hands as they trudged across the beach. “You must be freezing in that ridiculous shirt.”

Troy looked down at himself, mock-offended. “What? You don’t like the 19th-century look?”

“You look like Mr. Darcy who forgot how to tie his cravat.”

He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “Harsh. I was going for devastatingly misunderstood.”

She tried not to smile. Failed. “You’re halfway there.”

“Admit it, you’d still write about me in your diary.”

“Not unless it’s a cautionary tale.”

They both laughed in the way only best friends could share.

“So tell me, Pacetti, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

After taking a deep breath, he turned to her and said, “I need the second journal.”

“What?” She blinked, confusion written all over her face. “Why?”

“I think you might be right. That they’ll work across time.”

“I thought you said you didn’t think they’d work.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Okay… but…” Her voice softened, “why do you need both?”

“Well…” he replied, shrugging.

Taking a step forward, eyes narrowing, she searched his face. Obviously reading him.

Please don’t look at me like that, he thought, and please don’t ask—

“Is this about Edythe?”

Shit. There it is. She asked.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After a dream far too salacious to dismiss, Edythe awakens with Troy haunting her thoughts and lingering on her lips. As she struggles to make sense of the strange voice whispering soul ties, and what it might mean for her future, she learns he hasn’t vanished. He’s still at Unicorn Hill. And for reasons she can scarcely admit to herself, the knowledge leaves her both relieved and nervous. Because how, exactly, was she supposed to face him after dreaming that?

At breakfast, Headmistress Tabitha MacClare formally introduces Troy to the student body as Unicorn Hill’s first sorcerer in centuries. While fascination and jealousy ripple through the hall, Edythe finds herself unable to look away from him. But the true shock comes when she witnesses an exchange between Troy and Professor Esmedora Feeny. The recognition in his eyes is immediate. Familiar. Impossible. And for the first time, Edythe begins to wonder if the enigmatic Valkyrie professor and the mysterious time traveler share secrets that stretch across centuries.

Episode 15: Threads Already Frayed

Troy moved to stand, gaze fixed on the Melissandre table. On Edythe.

He was halfway out of his chair when a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, pinning him in place.

“Ah, ah, Mr. Pacetti,” Tabitha murmured, leaning just close enough that only he could hear. “Edythe may be your historian, but I am warning you to steer well clear of her.”

Troy glanced at her, his smirk diminishing into something flatter. Less amused. “Is that so?”

Yeah, that’s not happening, he thought.

“It is.” Her grip tightened just enough to make her point without making a scene. “Now, I’ve arranged your class schedule. But first things first.”

She nodded discreetly toward the end of the Melissandre table. Troy followed her line of sight—then froze. His mouth parted slightly as recognition slammed into him like a brick to the face.

No. No way.

His great-aunt, Esmedora, sat there nonchalantly, looking far more like a Sanderson Sister than a professor. Wearing dark velvet robes trimmed in house colors, a tall pointed witch’s hat perched flawlessly atop her Kate Hudson blonde waves. But unlike the others, a gleaming Valkyrie sword hung at her waist, its ornate hilt catching the morning light like a threat disguised as a fashion statement.

Typical. So typical. Still… what the hell was she doing here?

Esmedora had never, not once, mentioned that she’d taught at Unicorn Hill. Or anywhere near it. She’d conveniently left out that tiny biographical detail, along with apparently every other useful piece of information about time travel etiquette.

Thanks for the heads-up, Aunt Ez. Really appreciate it.

And then his aunt caught his attention. Her expression was cool, amused, and unmistakably knowing. The kind of look that said she’d seen this exact scenario play out and was thoroughly entertained by his suffering.

She tilted her head slightly toward the door. No words needed. Never were, with Valkyries. They communicated in glances and raised eyebrows, and the occasional tactical disappearance. Her high-heeled boots clicked against the marble floor as she made her way toward the exit.

Troy exhaled through his nose, slipping from the high-table without another glance toward Edythe. Which took more willpower than he’d like to admit. He moved through the hall, trailing after his aunt like a kid being summoned to the principal’s office.

As the great dining hall faded behind him, so did the whispers. The looks. The weight of a hundred curious eyes. Only his pulse remained, drumming a steady beat of what now, what now, what now.

*****

Edythe swallowed, unable to look away as Troy slipped through the doorway after Esmedora. She shifted to stand, her body moving before her mind could follow, but Charlotte’s hand tightened over hers with quiet insistence to stay.

“Edythe, wait—” she began. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Unfortunately for her, Tabitha lifted a single finger from across the hall, a quiet, unmistakable summons.

“I can’t right now.” Edythe whispered from the corner of her mouth, flickering her gaze toward Tabitha.

Charlotte’s shoulders slumped, exhaling sharply.

“Fine,” she murmured under her breath. “In Potions, then.”

“In Potions,” Edythe promised before excusing herself from the table and following her sister out of the dining hall, nerves coiling tighter with every step.

The courtyard was washed in pale morning light, magnolia petals drifting lazily across the stone path.

Perfect morning for tea and sweet humility, Edythe thought. She’d been waiting for this moment. Waiting since Raleigh, since the station platform where Tabitha had looked at her as if she were a spoiled child making up fantasies instead of reporting the truth.

So when Tabitha turned, Edythe didn’t even try to soften her tone. With her chin lifted like a queen and in an intentionally bratty tone, she demanded, “What do you think of my fantastical tales now? Now that you’ve met him?”

But Tabitha didn’t flinch or crack. She didn’t even blink. She just stood there, unreadable, with that wall of silence that was made possible thanks to the bloody Veil-brew tea she drank every morning.

All of which made Edythe’s irritation spike even hotter. She opened her mouth to try again, but Tabitha reached into her coat, cutting her off without a word.

A slim glass vial appeared between them, pearlescent liquid that spiraled within.

Tabitha pressed it into Edythe’s hand.

“Drink this.”

Edythe stuttered. “I-I what?”

“Drink it,” she repeated.

Edythe blinked, her outrage quickly replaced by alarm. “What is it?”

She’d expected… an apology. A reluctant admission that she’d been right about Troy. Something human. Not a mysterious potion shoved into her palm.

“This isn’t the time to defy me,” Tabitha said quietly, stepping closer, her authority coiling tight around every word.

Before Edythe could argue, an owl swooped down and perched on a low branch, offering an envelope. Tabitha accepted it and tucked it into her skirt pocket, then refocused her attention back onto her as though nothing had happened.

“You are to drink that before the end of the day,” she instructed, voice low but unyielding, “and report back to me immediately.”

Then she turned and strode away, her robes whispering behind her.

In disbelief, Edythe stared down at the vial in her hand.

What on earth is this?

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Previously on Marked by Light…

Long after dismissing Thaddeus Troy Pacetti from her office, Headmistress Tabitha MacClare finally opens the mysterious letter bearing the MacClare crest. What she discovers shakes her to the core. The letter was written by Gareth MacClare—her unborn son. As impossible revelations begin falling into place, Tabitha learns that Troy is far more than a time-traveling anomaly. According to Gareth, the silver-eyed wizard will play a vital role in events that have yet to unfold, and his path is destined to cross with Edythe’s whether Tabitha approves of it or not.

Determined to protect her sister, Tabitha seeks answers from Professor Esmedora Feeny. Instead, the ancient Valkyrie confirms her worst fears. Troy is exactly where he is meant to be, and fate has already set events into motion that cannot be stopped without disastrous consequences. Bound by a favor owed long ago and armed with more questions than answers, Tabitha is left with an unsettling realization: Edythe, Gareth, and Troy are all tangled in a future she cannot control. And for perhaps the first time in her life, watching may be the only thing she can do.

Episode 14: The First Pull of the Thread

Troy’s lips traced the curve of her shoulder in slow, coaxing kisses. They were tender, reverent and hungry. Each one unraveled her a little more. Instinctively and helplessly her body answered him. The ache in her belly coiling tight, rising with every kiss. Bit by bit, he pulled her skirt up. The graze of his fingers against her thighs lit a fire along her skin. She couldn’t help but respond by sliding her hand into his shirt.

Then, unexpectedly, his lips stilled against her neck. Static moved along his skin. His body tensed as though bracing for a tide only he could feel. Quickly she remembered what had happened in the library.

“Don’t disappear…” he whispered to himself, begging his body not to slip away, not to let time tear him from her… even now. Her heart split open. This was why he hadn’t kissed her in the library. Why he’d turned away at the last moment. He hadn’t resisted her. He was resisting the pull of time.

A sob of longing rose in her throat. And before she could think, before fear could stop her, she clenched the front of his shirt.

Voice trembling against his ear, she rasped, “Stay with me.”

Like a miracle it’d worked. Within a second his hands were back on her, sliding up her back, urgently claiming her waist and kissing her again and again like a man who’d finally stopped running from the thing he wanted most.

Her hands flew into his hair, pulling him down, closer. His mouth slanted over hers passionately, the kisses deepening, growing more certain, more consuming. His body pressed into her, leaving no space, no doubt, no escape. The world fractured around them. Heat surging. The storm inside her roaring uncontrollably.

His lips trailed down her throat, worshipful to the swell of her chest. Her skirts bunched higher beneath his touch. His voice raw, he stuttered between kisses, “I-I am yours.”

The way he said it, so vulnerable, so unguarded, caused something deep and ancient inside her to answer in reply.

A voice softer than angel’s wings brushed through her mind.

Soul ties...

Then warmth unfurled through her, sweet and all-consuming.

It felt like an invisible cord winding around them, drawing them closer with every breath. Like an unbreakable bond. A vow forged long before either of them had been born.

Then a new sensation swelled low within her. It became almost unbearably pleasurable. Every fear and doubt dissolved beneath it.

There was only him.

Only them.

And just as she was about to surrender herself completely—

A sudden knock rattled her door, forcing her to gasp awake.

With a disappointed exhale, she whispered, “No…”

For a second, she lay tangled in her sheets, heart pounding. She’d never in her life been so close to the edge. Heat fluttered low in her stomach; her lips throbbed with the ghost of his kisses.

Another knock followed, Charlotte’s voice muffled through the door. “Are you awake?”

Edythe hastily sat up in bed. She looked down at the iPod resting beside her. She’d fallen asleep to another one of those heart-wrenching songs by Hans Zimmer, …And Then I Kissed Him. Just the sight of the device sent a light, inexplicable flutter through her chest. With an exhale, she smoothed the feeling away and slid it beneath her pillow.

“Come in,” she called, voice poised, as she fought to tame the heat still curling inside her.

Slowly, the door eased open. Charlotte peeked her head in, curls bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. She slipped inside, the hem of her Melissandre robes whispering across the floor.

“There you are,” she said, perching on the edge of the bed. “Breakfast, sleepyhead. You’ll miss the announcement.”

Edythe’s heartbeat quickened.

Sitting up straighter, she repeated, “Announcement?”

“Tabitha’s invited all the coven’s upperclassmen to Magnolia Hall. Rumor has it, it’s about a special transfer student.” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. “Some of the younger girls swear they saw him walking on the beach this morning. They say he’s handsome. Mysterious. That he appeared out of nowhere last night.”

Troy’s still here? Edythe’s pulse stumbled.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently Professor Blackwood found him in the library after hours, and instead of detention, he escorted him straight to your sister’s office.” Charlotte leaned in, voice dropping to a giddy whisper. “And get this—he’s staying.”

He hasn’t time-jumped, and Tabitha is allowing him to stay, Edythe thought. Just then, butterflies bloomed as heat from the dream flared back beneath her skin, impossible to ignore and harder to hide.

“Are you blushing?” Charlotte teased, eyes narrowing in delight.

“What? No, you’re blushing.” Edythe replied darting her eyes to her hands, smoothing her sheets. “Um, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

With a suspicious grin, Charlotte nodded, rose from where she sat on the bed, and left.

The second the door shut behind her, Edythe sank back onto the mattress, burying her smile into her pillow.

Last night, Troy had kissed her… just a fleeting brush of his lips against her cheek. Nothing scandalous. And yet it had left her aching. Then she had to go and dream about him. A ruinously intimate dream. Gods, it was far too intimate.

Suddenly, her smile faltered, remembering the voice whispering, Soul ties. Was that the voice of fate? It definitely felt exactly like what Nixie had warned her about. Inhaling and exhaling, she told herself, You can’t surrender to this feeling… fall too quickly… become possessed by whatever this is.

But gods help her, she wanted to fall back asleep and feel him reach for her again.

No, stop it, Edythe, you can’t. He’s a time traveler. I can’t be fated to him. I just can’t be… he will always leave. Forever. It would be too cruel.

Although… hadn’t she kept him from time traveling? Not just in the dream, but in reality. In the library, she grabbed his shirt and held him to her, anchoring him. Interrupting time itself from stealing him away.

Was it prideful to think she had anything to do with it? Or had fate allowed it?

Edythe decided it didn’t matter. Not right now. Because the most humiliating question was this: How was she supposed to look him in the eye after a dream like that?

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Share MK Romero

Prologue: The Choice.

The saltwater hit Troy like a thousand knives. It burned down his throat, scalding his eyes. He let it. He wanted it to hurt. Maybe pain would trigger a jump, shock his curse into activating.

That was how it worked. Emotion. Trauma. Desperation.

That’s how it always works. Come on, damn it.

His limbs went numb. His body trembled. But the current didn’t carry him forward or backward. No tear in time opened. Just the roar of the waves and the bitter slap of utter failure. He tried imagining the one place in the world he’d rather be… 2008.

Doubling over, he threw up into the surf, saltwater and bile rising. Catching his next step, he stumbled out of the waves, gasping, soaked and shaking. A scream ripped from his throat as he dropped to his knees in the wet sand, pounding his fists into it again and again. Blood flecked the grain. His knuckles were raw and stinging. Tears mixed with salt covered his face, but he didn’t wipe them away.

Let them fall. Let the sea take them. Anything but this timeline.

Edythe’s journal lay where he’d tossed it, half-buried at the edge of the dunes like a gravestone marking everything he’d lost. He picked it up. Not because he cared, but because he had a choice to make.

Hands shaking, Troy carried it with him into the garden and slumped down beneath the magnolia tree. The bark was cold against his back. The sky was dim, the wind sharp, but he didn’t feel any of it.

He opened the journal. Edythe’s handwriting met him like a tortured ghost. He read her words again and again and again. He read it until the words blurred.

With a growl, he hurled it at the tree. Lightning split the sky.

“I trusted you…” he muttered, breath ragged, “…I was going to trust you…with all that I am.”

Then, because his dark night of the soul apparently wasn’t cruel enough, Edythe’s voice rose from behind him, fragile and echoing.

“Troy...?”

His body went rigid.

Edythe. No. No. No, not now.

Troy turned, snapping his hand up. Fast, final, palm out. Wet black hair clung to his forehead. His silver eyes glowed as brightly as the lightning he created in the night sky.

If she comes close… if she confesses what I already know, I won’t survive it.

“You’re bleeding…” she whispered, her words floating between them, soft as a plea. “Are you okay?”

Troy let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-snarl.

“That’s what you care about? My hands? When you’ve already driven a knife through something worse?”

Edythe flinched. “Troy—”

“Don’t.” The word cracked like thunder.

He took a step back, chest rising and falling too fast, fists clenching as if the only thing keeping him upright was rage. His stare was merciless, pinning her where she stood.

“You’ve made your choice, Edythe. Now live with it.”

Silence swallowed the garden. Only the branches above whispered, shifting under the weight of his fury.

Barely audible, he added, “Because I can’t.”

Her breath caught. Lightning splintering above.

A Note From MK 💛

Many indie authors launch Kickstarter campaigns to help fund editing, cover design, formatting, audiobooks, and publication costs. After a lot of thought, I decided not to go that route.

Instead, I’ve chosen to build my author career here on Substack, one reader at a time.

In many ways, becoming a paid subscriber is similar to backing a Kickstarter. You’re supporting an independent author before publication, helping bring a story into the world, and becoming part of its journey from the very beginning.

Every paid subscription helps me continue creating Marked By Light, prepare for its October 2026 release, and work toward my dream of becoming a published author.

✨ Paid subscribers will receive continuing episodes, bonus scenes, and exclusive content.

✨ As a special thank-you, paid subscribers will have their names included on a Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition of Marked By Light.

Whether you choose to subscribe or simply continue cheering Edythe and Troy on from afar, thank you for being part of this adventure. Your support means more than you know.

With love,

MK Romero, xoxo

✧ Continue to Episode One→ Desired. Never Possessed.

Episode for Prologue→The Night We Met by Lord Huron feat. Phoebe Bridgers

Marked by Light

An Immortals Intertwined Novel

by M.K. Romero

© 2026 M.K. Romero. All rights reserved.

This manuscript is the intellectual property of the author and may not be copied, distributed, or reproduced without permission.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After being caught in the Forbidden Wing, Thaddeus Troy Pacetti finds himself summoned to Headmistress Tabitha MacClare’s office. What begins as a routine explanation of his time-traveling circumstances quickly turns into a disaster when Troy discovers the intimidating witch seated behind the desk is none other than Edythe’s sister. While pretending he hadn’t nearly kissed Edythe only moments before, Troy quickly realizes that convincing the Headmistress he belongs at Unicorn Hill may be far easier than convincing her he belongs anywhere near her sister.

Across the desk, Tabitha MacClare studies the young wizard with growing unease. The records written in Edythe’s hand. The sealed letter bearing the MacClare crest. The unmistakable flash of silver in Troy’s eyes. One by one, the pieces begin falling into place, revealing a mystery she cannot ignore. As suspicion gives way to concern, Tabitha is forced to confront a troubling possibility: Troy Pacetti may be far more than a temporal anomaly. And if fate truly intends to write him into Edythe’s story, Tabitha vows to determine whether he is destined to become her sister’s salvation... or her ruin.

Episode 13: Necessary

Long after Tabitha dismissed Troy, she hadn’t released her grip on the envelope. The wax seal-stamped with the snarling crest of the MacClare wolf clan, seemed to pulse beneath her thumb, stirring the dormant Lycae blood-magic she’d inherited by marriage.

By the time dawn bled over the Atlantic, washing her private quarters in pale gold, she could no longer resist its call.

Her hands trembled as she broke the seal.

The handwriting struck her like a blow. Recognizable. Intimate. But not the one she’d expected.

Mother,

The bearer of this letter is vital to our future. Trust him. Protect him. But never underestimate him.

Thaddeus Pacetti will play a role in events that have not yet unfolded. More than once, the fate of those we love will rest upon choices he has not yet realized he is destined to make. The vampire courts are moving pieces into place. We must do the same.

He has been accepted into Unicorn Hill’s Law School and must continue his studies in your time. The knowledge he gains here will prove invaluable in the years ahead.

Circumstances will bring Thaddeus into your care on more than one occasion. When they do, help him however you are able.

There is one matter in particular where I ask for your restraint. You will be tempted to interfere, but you can’t.

It’s essential that you allow him and Edythe to cross paths. I understand the concerns. Nevertheless, keeping them apart would be a mistake. Both of them have a role to play in what is coming. Do not alter their course. This is not a request.

When the time comes, Troy will stand in places few others can reach and see things few others can know. What he learns may become the difference between survival and extinction for many.

Please, Mother, keep him safe above all else.

With undying love, your son, Gareth.

The letter slipped from her fingers, drifting to the desk like a fallen leaf. Tabitha’s hand flew to her stomach. Beneath silk and skin, the faintest flutter answered her touch.

Gareth.

The name she and Lachlan had whispered in the dark just three nights ago, voices tangled in wonder at the miracle forming within her. The same name Mr. Pacetti had let slip last night.

Gareth MacClare.

“The professor who welcomed me into Unicorn Hill…”

Her unborn son had already spun a web across centuries. And his pawn? A silver-eyed time traveler destined to engage with vampires.

Even as her pulse roared with revelation, a single icy thought cut through the chaos.

Should she allow this dangerously magnetic wizard around Edythe?

Edythe’s future, according to Esmedora’s dire warnings, was tangled in blood and darkness. The same girl who needed protection from forces she couldn’t comprehend.

She whispered to the empty room. “Not a chance.”

At least not until I know more.

Her quill was in her hand before the thought had fully formed. She scribbled a hasty letter to Lachlan, ink smudging from the force of her strokes. She needed his insight. Her husband had always seen angles she missed, patterns she couldn’t fathom.

She sealed the letter with shaking hands, just as the air shifted. An invisible pressure rolled across the room.

Then came the knock.

Tabitha straightened. “Enter,” she said coolly.

Esmedora drifted inside, her platinum-blonde hair gleaming, lips curved into that eternal smile. The kind that said I’ve seen worlds burn, and it never gets old.

“Mr. Pacetti,” Tabitha said flatly, no room for pretense, “is playing a very dangerous game.”

Esmedora’s mouth curled. “Aren’t we all?”

Tabitha rose, her stature towering over Esmedora’s petite and ancient presence. The height advantage meant nothing; they both knew it, but Tabitha used it anyway.

“Don’t toy with me, Valkyrie.” Her voice was silk over steel. “The silver in his eyes when emotions rise. I’ve seen it before. In yours.”

Esmedora lifted a brow, examining her crimson-tipped nails with theatrical disinterest.

“Oh? And what brilliant conclusion has the ever-wise Headmistress reached from that?”

“Is he your kin?” Tabitha asked without hesitation.

That smile widened. Feral and full of teeth.

“Such directness before coffee. I like it.”

“Students will be awake within the hour,” Tabitha snapped, though her tone remained measured. “And I have a university to run. One that now includes a time-traveling stranger who smells of Valkyrie blood and carries a letter from my unborn son.” She paused, letting that sink in. “So forgive me if I’m not in the mood for leisurely conversation.”

Something flickered behind Esmedora’s eyes.

“Well, well,” she murmured. “The little wolf prince has been busy.”

“Answer me.” It wasn’t quite a demand; Tabitha knew better than to command a Valkyrie, but it was close.

Esmedora sighed and glided across the room, trailing her fingers over spines of books, gleaming artifacts, the edge of Tabitha’s desk. Claiming everything with a lazy dominance.

“You always assumed I came to Unicorn Hill to protect Edythe,” she said at last, turning with a predator’s prowl. “How delightfully human of you to think this story revolves around you.”

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

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Previously on Marked by Light…

What begins as a conversation about vampires quickly spirals into an argument neither Edythe Bellerose nor Thaddeus Troy Pacetti is willing to lose. As tempers flare and neither proves willing to back down, the argument only seems to pull them closer together. Beneath the frustration, attraction simmers hotter than ever, until the space between them disappears entirely and they find themselves balanced on the edge of a kiss neither can quite resist.

But just as the moment threatens to become something more, reality intervenes. Forced apart by an approaching professor, Troy helps Edythe escape before the two can be discovered. Yet the evening's surprises are far from over. Upon returning to Melissandre House, Edythe is greeted by Professor Esmedora Feeny, who not only knows Troy's real name but seems suspiciously aware of what transpired between them. As the professor's teasing words linger in her mind, Edythe finds herself thinking about Troy's inevitable meeting with Headmistress Tabitha MacClare. The thought both worried and thrilled her in equal measure. What would her sister make of the impossible wizard who traveled through time? And worse still... would she try to keep him away from her?

Episode 12: Valkyrie Eyes and Sealed Secrets

Troy felt the same way he always did walking into the Headmistress’s office, like stepping into a time capsule specifically designed to make him feel like a delinquent.

Same mahogany desk that probably cost more than a small country. Same walls drowning in ancient tomes that were probably as old as his aunt Esmedora. And that faint, unnerving sense that every object in the room was silently judging him and finding him severely lacking.

The name on the office door read: Tabitha MacClare.

Huh, same last name as Gareth, he thought. Coincidence? He smirked. Please…

He didn’t believe in those. Not anymore. The universe had spent his entire life proving they didn’t exist.

The only difference? The woman behind the desk.

And gods, she exceeded expectations in the worst possible way.

This witch had the kind of presence that made a room feel smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were slowly closing in and she was personally controlling the air pressure. Her strawberry-blonde hair was tied into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and her floor-length velvet robe pooled around her boots like a queen on her throne. Perched on the bridge of her nose were cat-eye spectacles, the kind specifically designed for looking down at troublemakers.

Which, fair. He was definitely a troublemaker.

He leaned against the doorframe, all casual swagger, as if he hadn’t just stepped into enemy territory. Valkyrie aunts in full-blown rage mode? He’d handled those. Survived, even. He could handle one nineteenth-century headmistress.

Probably.

“So,” came a voice as crisp as winter frost and twice as cutting, “you’re the time traveler my sister’s been so eager to keep from me.”

Troy’s smirk faltered. His stomach followed suit, dropping somewhere around his knees.

Edythe’s sister?

The words hit like a splash of ice water in the face. Then a bucket. Then possibly an entire frozen lake.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

As if it wasn’t hard enough staying focused after nearly kissing Edythe. Now, he had to sit across from her sister and pretend he wasn’t still buzzing from the aftershock. That he was a functional human being instead of a walking disaster. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

Straightening, he forced himself to calm like it was something he could just decide to do, slipping back into his devil-may-care charm like it was armor. Because that’s what charm was: armor. A shield. Something to hide behind when the truth was too messy.

“Thaddeus Troy Pacetti,” he said, offering a respectful nod that was mostly genuine. “Most people call me Troy.”

Tabitha didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared at him like he was a particularly disappointing specimen under glass. “Most people aren’t me.”

He tilted his head, a flicker of amusement ghosting over his face despite the sinking feeling in his gut. One brow lifted in what he hoped looked like smug surrender instead of mild panic.

“Duly noted.” He said.

She gestured to the chair across from her desk with the kind of casual authority that clearly implied she was used to being obeyed. Immediately. Without question.

“Sit, Mr. Pacetti. We have much to discuss about your unique... situation.”

Situation. Right. That’s what we’re calling catastrophic temporal displacement now, he thought walking over to the chair and sinking into it like he owned the damn thing. Authority figures hated confidence. The refusal to be intimidated.

Good. Let her be annoyed. Annoyed he could work with.

“I’ve heard rumors about a time-traveling student,” Tabitha mused. Her eyes were sharp and calculating, studying him like a problem to be solved or possibly eliminated. “But rumors are rarely worth the breath used to spread them.”

Troy reached into his jacket, pulling out the folded document that described his time travel occurrences.

“Not rumors,” he said, sliding it across her polished desk. His lips curling into something that was definitely smug. “History. Or future history, from your perspective.”

Tabitha’s fingers hovered over the document. For just a fraction of a second, it was as though she sensed something in the air. A hum. A vibration. When she looked back at him, he recognized the flicker of nervousness. Most people reacted that way when they felt the electricity radiating from him into the air. Like the prickling static that gathered after shuffling across carpet.

Join the club, lady, he thought.

“And I’m to believe that in... 2008, was it?” Tabitha asked, tilting her head, her eyes glaring over her spectacles.

Troy nodded.

“That Unicorn Hill regularly accepts time-travelers?” Her tone was nothing less than skeptical. Bordering on patronizing. “That this is simply... standard procedure?”

Meeting her eyes head-on, he replied, “Not regularly, no. I’m the first. The only. Just as I am here.”

Lucky me, he thought, Always breaking new ground. The exception and the problem.

She tapped the parchment with one perfectly manicured nail. “This document claims you’re sorted into the Caelithorne Coven.”

He nodded again.

Her eyes narrowed further. “A coven that has existed for centuries.”

“It has,” he agreed, keeping his voice level. Neutral. Not giving her anything to work with.

Tabitha’s gaze flicked back to the document, scanning the list of courses listed under his name. “Chronomancy. Advanced Runic Applications. Temporal Theory.” She looked up, one elegant eyebrow arched in challenge. “These classes do not exist at Unicorn Hill.”

“Not yet,” Troy said smoothly, not missing a beat. “But accommodations can be made, I’m sure.” He didn’t blink. Drop the name and see what happens. “At least, that’s what Professor Gareth MacClare says.”

Her brow arched higher.

“Gareth MacClare?” She repeated, voice edged with something between curiosity and suspicion.

Bingo.

“Yes.” Troy’s smirk widened, “The very same professor who welcomed me into Unicorn Hill gave me these documents and verified my story.” He leaned in slightly, just enough to make his point. “You know him. Or... will know him. Future tense. Temporal grammar is tricky.”

Something about her expression, though still cold, had changed. Interest, maybe? Concern?

He pressed forward, sensing an opening. “Not to mention the girl who’ll become my historian of sorts. Edythe Bellerose.” Her name felt like honey on his tongue. Dangerous and sweet. “She’ll be proof as well. She’s been documenting everything. Every jump. Every date. Every—”

His eyes flashed silver for a fraction of a second. Involuntary. A burst of power he couldn’t quite suppress.

Shit.

To continue reading the rest of this episode and follow Troy and Edythe’s story as it unfolds, please consider becoming a paid subscriber.

Paid subscribers receive:

✨ Full episodes

✨ Exclusive bonus scenes

✨ Behind-the-scenes content and extras

As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

Thank you for helping make this story possible. 💛

Read more

Previously on Marked by Light…

Unable to stop thinking about Troy, Edythe retreats to the Forbidden Wing of the library determined to uncover the truth about him. Why can’t she hear his thoughts? What kind of Hybrid is he? And why does she feel destined to document his appearances through time? But despite hours of searching through ancient texts and forbidden histories, she finds herself with more questions than answers.

Then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Troy appears. What begins as a playful conversation over cinnamon pastries quickly turns into something far more dangerous as the attraction between them grows impossible to ignore. And when Troy admits he knows very little about the girl who has spent days trying to unravel his mysteries, Edythe realizes the greatest danger may not be discovering who Troy Pacetti truly is but how badly she wants him.

Episode 11: A Whisper Away

“Has your sister ever been hurt by a vampire?” His voice was low, intimate, threaded with something possessive. As if he would hunt down anyone who dared harm someone she cared about. It was unsettling and thrilling at the same time.

“No. I don’t think so… my sister is married to a…” she lowered her voice, barely above a whisper, “a Lycan.”

Lycans were true-born werewolves, but unlike their mortal counterparts, they were immortal shapeshifters, born of ancient bloodlines or moonlit rituals, able to shift at will rather than at the mercy of lunar cycles.

And for as long as history could remember, Lycans and Vampires had been blood-sworn enemies. Creatures locked in a war that began the moment Lorean magic first bled into the mundane world, a hatred so deep it was written into their very natures.

Troy’s eyes widened, realization flickering like struck flint. “Huh. No kidding.” His voice dipped into a low rumble that crawled along her spine, raising goosebumps along her arms. “My favorite professor in 2008, that is, is a Lycan.”

Edythe’s eyes went wide. “They let a Lycan teach? Isn’t that… dangerous?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Not really. Okay, yeah, he smells like a wet dog on rainy days, but MacClare’s a real cool guy. Actually, he was the professor who came to my house to give me my U-Hill acceptance letter and the paperwork labeling me their first time-traveling student.”

Crinkling her nose, she asked, “MacClare?”

Wasn’t that Tabitha’s husband’s family name? Could Troy’s mentor be related?

“Gareth MacClare,” he clarified before chuckling. “Better a Lycan than a bloodsucker.”

She stiffened.

No, he couldn’t be serious, she thought. Please don’t be like my sister.

“A bloodsucker, as in a vampire?” She asked, hoping he’d say something that’d make the knot in her stomach loosen.

“Vamp. Bloodsucker. Leech. All the same thing.”

The words hit like a whip, casual and sharp, a prejudice slipping from his lips so easy it burned.

She gritted her teeth. “Seriously? You’re condemning an entire species you’ve scarcely encountered.”

Silver flashed in his eyes with intense fury. She almost took a step back.

“How do you know what I’ve encountered?” He snapped, every word vibrating through the space between them. Underneath, however, was pain. Raw, authentic pain.

Nervously, she whispered, “Low-lower your voice.”

“No,” he growled.

No? Did he just say… no?

Narrowing her eyes. “How very Caelithorne of you.”

He mirrored her gaze, sharp, cold, and almost amused. “Now who’s being prejudice?”

Tilting her head, she bit out, “I’m being prejudice?!”

Oh. My. Gods.

She tried to walk past him, to regain even a shred of composure, but he moved with her, blocking her in.

“Yes.” He braced his hands against the shelves. One next to her shoulder, the other hovering near her waist. Heat radiated off him, seeping through her gown like a touch he hadn’t yet dared to give but didn’t need to.

Merlin’s ghost. He’s so…so… so infuriating.

“So you’ve come across one, then? A vampire?” she asked, striving for civility even as heat climbed up her neck.

“A time or two too many.”

His face hovered a breath from hers…

Her stomach dipped. Heat pooling low, curling through her body in molten waves.

She bit down on her bottom lip.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

Before she could stop herself she placed her hand on his chest. But not to stop him. To feel him. Because gods help her, she was thinking about what it would be like to….

His hand settled at her waist. Slow. Torturously slow. Testing her. Waiting.

Heat bloomed where he touched her. Every fiber of her being burned, sending dizzying pulses through her body. The edges of the library blurred. Even his aura radiated electricity. Creating a pocket of heat between them.

I should pull away. I should…

He leaned in closer....

Her mouth parted on instinct.

They were a whisper away. A breath away.

Without warning he turned, eyes squeezing shut, jaw tight as if bracing for impact. As though standing on the edge of oblivion and fighting not to fall.

Gods! He’s about to vanish right here, right now.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the strange fabric.

Inwardly she begged, don’t go. Stay with me.

Just then, her magic radiated through her body unto him. Instinctively she knew they were creating a connection that was tethering them together and anchoring him in place.

Facing her again, his gaze lowered toward hers. Eyes burning pure silver, his lips hovered inches from hers. They were seconds away from crossing that last barrier when an unwanted voice pierced through her mind like a knife.

Out after curfew again. I’ll catch them this time…

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As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

Thank you for helping make this story possible. 💛

✧New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→Desired. Never Possessed Or visit the full episode index here →Season One: Index

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Previously on Marked by Light…

After arriving at Unicorn Hill, Edythe Bellerose tries settling back into the familiar comforts of campus life, but her thoughts remain fixed on the impossible wizard she left behind aboard the Unicorn Express. When Professor Esmedora Feeny absentmindedly hums a melody that should not exist for another century, Edythe is left questioning whether the mysterious divination professor knows far more about time and fate than she lets on.

Hoping to uncover answers and inspired by Wampus, Edythe decides to play Truth or Challenge with the Melissandre girls and Professor Esmedora. But what begins as harmless fun quickly turns unsettling when the professor divines the identity of the young man destined to capture Edythe’s attention. To Edythe’s horror, Esmedora speaks his real name aloud: Thaddeus. And when Edythe desperately denies knowing him, the professor sees straight through the lie, leaving her with the uneasy feeling that some secrets may already be slipping beyond her control.

Episode 10: Dangerous Connections

When Edythe wasn’t sketching gowns in the sewing room or enduring lectures on proper magical conduct, she found solace in the shadowed stacks of the library’s forbidden wing. For years, she’d trusted no one would find her there, that this space was hers alone. After all, few dared to wander far into the library’s darker corners, where the books whispered secrets best left undisturbed.

This afternoon, though, she wasn’t just hiding from the weight of thoughts that weren’t hers. She was searching the library for anything she could uncover about Troy, with a little pink box of pastries at her side.

It maddened her that she couldn’t read his mind. For days, she’d combed through every text she could find, searching for some explanation as to why she could hear everyone else’s thoughts but not his. Nothing profound explained it away. With no answer to be found, she turned her attention to his hybrid nature instead.

The only clue was his eyes. His brilliant blue eyes. Not exactly Lycan blue. Unlike the Lycans, Troy’s flashed silver. She wasn’t certain Lycans did that. She hoped they didn’t. And she certainly wasn’t about to ask Tabitha.

Gods don’t let him be a Lycan.

That would make him like her sister’s husband.

And she could not have a crush on a man who belonged to the same wild, untamed world.

Please… anything but a Lycan.

Then there was the log. Those dates she was meant to record, the documentation of his jumps through time. Was she truly the first person to ever chronicle a time traveler’s journeys? The first person to bear witness to someone who existed across centuries simultaneously?

Hours passed in frustrated silence, book after book yielding nothing useful. Only outdated theories on temporal magic and vague warnings about the dangers of paradox. Frustration curled hot and tight in her gut as she shoved another useless volume back onto the shelf with more force than necessary.

And then froze.

Her fingers brushed against something different. A thick, dust-laden tome caught her eye.

The Histories of Vampires and Upper Laws.

Balancing precariously on the ladder, with her wide crinoline skirts pressed awkwardly against the shelf, threatening her balance with every movement, Edythe stretched for the ancient tome. Her fingers grazed the dusty spine, easing it free, terrified of damaging the fragile binding. The brittle pages crackled as she opened it.

A single word leapt off the page…. Selkies.

As in male mermaids? Weren’t they supposed to be extinct?

In the class, Magical Creatures of Old, she’d learned that merfolk had all but disappeared after the brutal pirate raids over two centuries ago, hunted to near-extinction for their magical properties and the fortunes their scales could fetch.

How could they possibly be kin to vampires? How could two species that are so different, one aquatic, one terrestrial, share bloodlines?

While one hand braced against the wood to keep from tumbling, Edythe let her mind drift back to the days she’d spent in her father’s law offices in Oxford, bored and lonely but observant. She remembered vampires in tailored European finery offering courteous nods as they passed. They’d seemed sophisticated then, civilized even. All conducting business with the proper formalities. Nothing at all like the dangerous creatures described on these ancient pages.

But before she could dig deeper, before she could make sense of the connection between vampires and supposedly extinct mer-people, a featherlike touch tickled the back of her mind. Unwanted thoughts slipping into her consciousness like smoke under a door.

Two fourth-years from the Solterrae Coven were coming.

Snapping the book shut with a soft thud, she tucked it back onto the shelf exactly where she’d found it and descended the ladder, slipping behind the nearest bookcase just as voices drifted closer.

“I’m guessing you’re auditioning for the lead role?” one witch mused, placing a book onto a floating stack that whisked itself away toward the reshelving section.

“Absolutely,” the other replied.

The two fell into step, their conversation and thoughts fading as they disappeared down the corridor.

Edythe exhaled slowly, tension draining from her shoulders as she cast a glance toward the tall windows. The sun was sinking, painting the forbidden wing in amber and shadow.

Blast! Time had slipped through her fingers like sand.

She snapped the pink pastry box shut, appetite forgotten, and swept up her sketchbook, already rising to leave.

That was when the air shifted.

A charged current skimmed across her skin, lifting every hair along her arms.

In the hush of the library, the lantern fluttered once then died, plunging the room into darkness.

Slowly, she turned.

And there he was… Troy, materializing from nothing, ribbons of luminous color unraveling around his tall frame like a tear in the sky. Light fractured through the library, spilling the hues of the Aurora Borealis across the bookshelves. Reality split open just wide enough for Time to push him through into her presence.

You’ve reached the end of the free preview.

To continue reading the rest of this episode and follow Troy and Edythe’s story as it unfolds, become a paid subscriber.

Paid subscribers receive:

✨ Continuing episodes

✨ Exclusive bonus scenes

✨ Behind-the-scenes content and extras

As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

Thank you for helping make this story possible. 💛

✧New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→Desired. Never Possessed Or visit the full episode index here →Season One: Index

Episode will continue past paid content line.

Read more

Previously on Marked by Light...

After sharing an unforgettable night aboard the Unicorn Direct with the mysterious time traveler, Troy Pacetti, Edythe awakens alone to discover he has vanished back to 2008 exactly as promised. Wrapped in his jumper and unable to resist the temptation of the strange device he left behind, she listens to music from the future and finds herself haunted by thoughts of their almost-kiss. What should have been simple curiosity is becoming something far more dangerous. For the first time in her life, a young man has slipped beneath her defenses, leaving her longing for someone she barely knows and can never truly keep.

But Edythe knows better than anyone what happens when fate is allowed to take hold. As memories of Tabitha’s departure and Nixie’s warnings resurface, she vows she will never surrender her heart to someone who could disappear without warning. Unfortunately, that promise becomes harder to keep when she arrives in Raleigh and discovers her sister has already become suspicious of Troy’s existence. While Tabitha quietly resolves to investigate the mysterious young wizard, Edythe clings to the one piece of him she still possesses: a forbidden glimpse of the future hidden deep within her pocket.

Episode 9: A Melody Out of Time

Several hours later, Unicorn Hill’s campus rose before them like a vision half-dreamed. A seamless blend of Southern aristocracy and Old-World French royal-romance that shouldn’t work together but somehow did.

The estate stood just beyond its elegant stone gates, framed by towering magnolias that swayed in the coastal breeze and bathed in the molten glow of dying sunlight. Long-limbed oaks arched overhead, their branches woven together like cathedral ceilings, dappling the gravel-stone road that wound toward the main entrance.

Edythe stepped from the carriage, and the familiar beauty caught in her throat the way it always did, stealing her breath for just a moment. No matter how many years she’d called this place home, its magic never dimmed, never became ordinary or expected. It felt like stepping into a painting, into some impossible world where beauty was its love language.

College buildings and antebellum coven houses unfurled before her like Southern châteaus: white columns that gleamed in the fading light, wraparound iron balconies dripping with wisteria and jasmine.

Sunlight spilled through towering windows, laying shifting patterns across checkerboard marble and as if the very walls breathed with history, with the ghosts of thousands of students who’d walked these halls before her.

“Home sweet home,” Charlotte sighed, linking their arms together as they walked. “Though I swear the rosebushes have gotten more aggressive. I think they tried to grab my luggage.”

Edythe followed her gaze to the magical, romantic French and Greek inspired gardens. Roses and oleander tangled with ancient olive trees, fountains splashed between marble statues of gods and goddesses frozen mid-dance.

Beyond the dunes that guarded the school from the Atlantic’s fury, wild Spanish mustangs and French unicorns ran along the shore, manes catching the wind, hooves throwing up spray where waves met sand. Creatures of legend, untouched by time, as much a part of this place as the buildings themselves.

“Edythe! You won’t believe what happened in New York—”

She turned to find Margaret Holt descending on them in a flurry of silk skirts and blonde curls, with Sophia Blake close behind, both their faces alight with gossip too delicious to wait another moment to share.

Falling into step with her friends, Edythe let herself be swept along in the familiar current of chatter and speculation, stories tumbling over each other as they made their way across campus.

Their coven house, Melissandre, welcomed them with a honey-gold façade and black wrought-iron balconies, honeysuckle climbing the trellises like lace, the sweet mock oranges scattered around the property. Inside, the common room already buzzed with life and energy. There were dark emerald velvet sofas arranged in intimate conversation clusters, honeyed wood paneling that glowed warm in the lamplight, and floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books.

“Well-well, look what the cat dragged in,” came a velvety voice from the hearth, rich with amusement and something darker.

Professor Esmedora Feeny lounged in a wingback chair like a queen on her throne, one long leg draped over the armrest in a pose that would’ve scandalized most professors at Unicorn Hill but somehow looked perfectly natural on her. Flowing maroon robes pooled around her like spilled wine, and her tall witch’s hat sat at a rakish angle that suggested she wore it more for aesthetic than tradition. Alabaster skin, lips painted blood-red, platinum hair spilling in unruly waves that looked artfully disheveled. She was of the kind that was more forbidden lore than professor.

Rumors claimed she was immortal, that her youthful face was a glamour hiding something ancient and terrifying. Most suspected Valkyrie. She had those fae-like features, pointed ears barely visible through her hair. She always wore a silver blade at her side that everyone assumed was not for show.

And Esmedora didn’t just teach divination. She saw things, knew things she shouldn’t, as if the future laid itself bare before her. She didn’t just lecture on Bronze-Age warfare. She spoke like she’d fought in those battles, described tactics with the intimate knowledge of someone who’d wielded a shield wall. She didn’t just recount the stories of gods and heroes. She spoke like she’d known them personally, like they’d shared mead and secrets around ancient fires.

The professor purred, her accent impossible to place, as if she’d collected favorite sounds from around the world and woven them into something entirely her own. “Ladies, welcome back to our little playground.”

“Thank you, Professor Esmedora,” they chorused with automatic politeness, their deference earning a quirk of her blood-red lips that might’ve been approval or mockery. With her, it was impossible to tell.

Tapping crimson nails against the armrest in a rhythm that sounded almost like a heartbeat, she said, “Your rooms are ready, and Miss Bellerose…” Her gray eyes fixed on Edythe with unnerving intensity. “Headmistress MacClare asked me to inform you that your personal quarters remain unchanged. Lucky you.”

She’d said, Lucky you, with a tone of mockery, though her smile remained friendly as if a shark’s grin could ever be called friendly.

Edythe ignored the jealous looks from the seventeen-year-old first-years still trying to figure out the social hierarchy, who didn’t yet understand that some privileges came with prices attached.

Though she’d gladly accepted the private room, it came with a mandatory tea time with her sister, an exhausting ritual of judgment that she endured once a month.

Hours later, after unpacking her trunk, carefully hiding Troy’s iPod beneath her pillow, and forcing down a light supper she barely tasted, Edythe joined the Melissandre girls in the common room, where they gathered around a lit hearth for their first-night ritual of storytelling about their summers.

Settling into a window seat, Edythe curled her legs beneath her skirts, half-listening to Margaret’s animated tale of a disastrous tea with the First Lady of American Magic that involved an exploding teapot and several singed eyebrows. And the other half of her imagined what Troy was doing over a century away.

That’s when she heard it. The same melody that’d wrapped around Edythe in the train compartment. Tennessee, was hummed low and almost absentmindedly by Professor Esmedora while she shuffled tarot cards by the fire.

Edythe froze, breath snagging in her throat.

How? The song hadn’t been written yet. Wouldn’t be written for over a hundred and fifty years. There was no possible way Professor Esmedora could know it. Unless…

Professor Esmedora’s gray eyes flicked up from her cards, catching Edythe’s stare with unnerving directness, like she’d been waiting for exactly this reaction. A smile slowly spread across her blood-red lips, satisfaction written in every curve.

Edythe rose before she could second-guess herself, as if drawn across the room by invisible thread she couldn’t see but definitely felt pulling her forward.

Keeping her voice casual even though her heart thudded ridiculously against her chest, she asked, “Professor, that tune you’re humming… what is it?”

The woman tilted her head.

“Tune? Was I humming?” Esmedora’s smile widened. “The problem with living as long as I have, darling, is that you pick up so many melodies along the way. They all blend together eventually. One century sounds much like another.”

Trying desperately to mask the urgency clawing at her throat, Edythe pressed, “You were humming something just now… something that sounded like… sorrow and hope at once.”

“Sorrow and hope at once?” The Professor chuckled, “It does sound like a war-torn romance when you put it that way, doesn’t it? The sweetest melodies always do. Born from blood and longing in equal measure.” Esmedora flicked her hand lazily and theatrically through the air. “But the better question is… why does it matter to you so much to even ask?”

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Previously on Marked by Light…

As their game of Wampus continues aboard the Unicorn Express, the questions between Edythe and Troy become increasingly difficult to avoid. What begins as playful competition soon turns into something far more personal as Troy admits he has often wondered why she would spend years documenting his appearances through time. Forced to answer honestly, Edythe confesses that there is something about him she cannot explain, something that feels important enough to remember.

With every truth exchanged, the walls between them begin to crack. As Troy presses her to reveal what she truly sees when she looks at him, Edythe realizes his silver eyes may be giving away more than he intends. And when a quiet moment draws them dangerously close to crossing a line neither of them can ignore, they are interrupted at the last possible second.

Episode 8: A Future She Shouldn’t Touch

Troy had barely left for the water-closet before fatigue caught her, dragging Edythe down no matter how much she fought it, exhaustion winning the battle she’d been waging all evening.

When she woke, something heavy rested across her shoulders.

It was his jumper. The one with the revolutionary woman painted across the front.

Gods, it still smelled like him.

His scent wrapped around her as though he’d held her through the night, and the mere thought of his arms around her sent warmth unfurling low in her belly.

She looked around the compartment, finding it empty.

So. He’d time-traveled then. Vanished back to 2008 without warning, without goodbye, exactly as he’d said he would.

Her fingers caught on something in the pocket—the iPod, that’s what he’d called it. It gleamed in the lamplight, humming with secrets from another time, from a world she’d never see. Edythe knew she shouldn’t touch it. Future-magic was dangerous after all. The kind of thing that could fracture timelines.

Every lesson she’d ever learned about temporal magic screamed at her to leave it alone. And yet…

She traced the buttons, remembering the way he’d worked them. The screen flared to life at her touch, flooding her vision with eerie titles from an age yet to exist, music that hadn’t been written yet, wouldn’t be written for over a century.

She placed the white strings in her ears exactly as he had and clicked on the list titled: Favorite Film Scores.

What is a film score? she wondered. Getting a feel for how the devices worked she scrolled through the song titles by John Williams, James Horner, and Hans Zimmer.

One score in particular, Pearl Harbor: Tennessee by Hans Zimmer, had her finger hovering over a beat longer than the rest, logic battling the reckless need to know.

Desire won and she pressed play. Immediately the melody took over. Curling in her seat feelings of longing flooded her. In her mind she pictured Troy’s silver eyes, the curve of his lips. The nearness of him. Then her throat tightened at the thought of their almost kiss.

It would’ve been my…. she thought biting down on her bottom lip… first kiss. If only Mrs. Pots hadn’t entered. Another second and I would’ve known what he tasted like.

Most witches her age had already been kissed. Had giggled about stolen moments in library alcoves or garden paths. But no one dared court Edythe Bellerose. Not with her sister as Headmistress, not with that particular shadow hanging over any wizard foolish enough to try.

Not that Edythe had ever been interested. She’d never felt that pull, that curiosity, that desperate need to know what a boy’s mouth felt like against hers. Not until now. Not until Troy, with his impossible eyes and his maddening smile and the way he looked at her like she was something worth remembering across centuries.

When the final notes faded, she remained perfectly still, heart racing, lips parted as though she’s already been kissed.

She played it again. And again. Letting the haunting melody seep into her bones, drowning in the raw beauty of his world that existed so far beyond her reach it might as well’ve been another universe entirely.

Unconsciously, she pressed his jumper to her nose, eyes falling shut, breathing him in. Every inhale pulled her deeper into this song. Into that almost kiss.

Gods. He was already gone. He might as well’ve been only a dream.

Suddenly Nixie’s voice floated into her thoughts.

“You can’t trust love. It’s a pawn that fate uses to manipulate you.”

Edythe frowned.

Years ago she’d swore she’d never follow in her sister’s footsteps. Not out of loyalty to her father’s prejudices, she wasn’t that noble, nor that blind. But because her sister had been her home. Her everything. Tabitha was the one who braided her hair, who taught her magic and held her when she cried over hurts their father never noticed.

When Tabitha left for the highlands of Scotland, for a Lycan king and a distant throne, it felt like being dropped into freezing water without warning. Like drowning while everyone insisted she should simply learn to swim.

Tears trailed down Edythe cheeks. Swallowing hard, she wiped them.

Tabitha hadn’t simply left. No… her sister had allowed Fate to pull her away.

Stop it, she chided herself. You can’t have feelings for a boy who’ll always vanish into thin air. He’ll disappear whether he wants to or not. Scattered across centuries. Gone without a goodbye or apology.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. Having feelings for a time traveler is ridiculous, she told herself. I don’t even know him. Not truly. Didn’t know his favorite color or what kept him awake at night. You’re lonely. That’s all. Don’t let fate manipulate you. Even if he makes you feel less alone.

The Unicorn Direct shrieked into Raleigh’s platform, metal grinding against metal.

Edythe slipped the forbidden gadget deep into her skirt pocket, pressing it against her hip where it would stay hidden. A secret that would remain hers alone.

Footsteps thundered past the compartment door. Voices called. Trunks slammed.

The world was returning. Pulling her away from the dream of him. From the impossible hours they’d shared on a midnight train ride.

You’ve reached the end of the free preview.

To continue reading the rest of this episode and follow Troy and Edythe’s story as it unfolds, become a paid subscriber.

Paid subscribers receive:

✨ Continuing episodes

✨ Exclusive bonus scenes

✨ Behind-the-scenes content and extras

As a special thank-you for supporting Marked By Light, all paid subscribers will have their names included on the Supporters Dedication Page in the Amazon Special Edition that will be launching October 2026.

Thank you for helping make this story possible. 💛

✧New to Marked By Light? Begin the story from Episode One here→Desired. Never Possessed Or visit the full episode index here →Season One: Index

Episode will continue past paid content line.

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