Disclaimer: I own nothing.

CHAPTER ONE: STRANGER THINGS

Nicholas came to Lindisfarne when Athelstan had lived for over eighteen winters in God's glorious presence. The monastery was Athelstan's entire world and he regularly dedicated himself to reading and writing, to glorifying the Lord's name. His fellow monks were truly his brothers and he was grateful for their guidance and discipline.

Nicholas was different. He strode in wearing muddied breeches and a shirt laced only loosely at the neck. There was a sword on his belt and his hair reached past his shoulders. There was something hard and pained in his eyes that made Athelstan automatically step forward, because he had been taught to help and offer comfort as the Lord did. He caught Nicholas's attention. The stranger's smile was surprisingly soft as Father Cuthbert arrived.

"Apologies for causing any alarm," Nicholas said, his voice warm and rough with pain. "But I seek a peaceful dwelling. I have lost those closest to me and need time away from the world."

Father Cuthbert looked at him carefully. "You would join our ranks?"

Nicholas laughed, though not unkindly. "I'm not suited to a pious life, Father, but I can work your gardens and find my solace there."

"God heals all ills."

"Not mine."

Athelstan's eyes widened, how could Nicholas say and believe such things? And sound so unafraid uttering such blasphemous words?

"He is not my god."

Father Cuthbert looked at Nicholas, perhaps seeing something that Athelstan did not. "Where was your heart broken?"

Nicholas looked at the friar with respect and inclined his head. "Far from this place. I lived with a pack who now live no more. I cannot be there without them."

There were gasps and mutterings from some of the listening monks. Athelstan's heart beat fast, he knew what Nicholas was saying but could not believe it – this stranger not only spoke against God but had lived amongst werewolves? Ungodly monsters who sought to spread disease and cause bloodshed in the Lord's peaceful lands?

Father Cuthbert's expression tightened but he did not order Nicholas from the monastery, not yet. "You are a werewolf?"

Nicholas's smile was warm and filled with secrets. Athelstan wondered what they were. "Alas, I am as human as you and your monks. But wolves became my kin, my mate saved my life during the slaughter that took her from me. I do not seek to claim any here for my faith."

"You will not speak of your gods or wolves?"

Nicholas looked considering. "I will not attempt to shake any from their convictions, if you offer me the same courtesy."

The mutterings grew louder but Father Cuthbert nodded. "You will be given a room, you must leave your sword there and keep to the gardens or kitchen unless at your bed. You are welcome at prayers."

Nicholas bowed neatly from the waist. "You are generous, Father."

Athelstan watched as several of his brothers left with Father Cuthbert, apparently disagreeing with his decision. Nicholas lingered, his sad eyes wandering about the hall. Athelstan's heart hammered hard and he hurried away before Nicholas's gaze could touch him.

Athelstan did not sleep well that night, he dreamt of sharp teeth, blood spilling, and howls that made his heart hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered prayers feverishly until morning's light.

Athestan avoided speaking to Nicholas for many weeks and months. The man appeared to seek solitude anyway and did not approach anyone unless they came to him first. He did spend time with Father Cuthbert though, the two of them often spoke alone and neither appeared angry after such meetings.

Athelstan had not been banned from talking to Nicholas; Father Cuthbert had merely told him that Nicholas was not a man of God.

"Show him God's kindness and compassion," Father Cuthbert added. "He is in great need of it."

Some of the monks frowned at Nicholas and claimed that he should be forced to leave the monastery. They told stories of the werewolves and packs that they had encountered before becoming monks, stories of blood and fear and pain. Athelstan listened to them all, his mind filling with terrible images. How could God create such creatures?

Brother Bartholomew scowled at such a view. "They are a perversion of God's image, a sign of the great sins they have committed. Their punishment is to be hungry but never fulfilled. We are always their prey."

It was the prevailing perspective and Athelstan took it heart, averting his eyes whenever Nicholas strode through the halls. He never fasted or prayed; he never studied the Bible or sought punishment for his sins. He never seemed sorry for who he'd been.

He did seem sad though, on a bone-deep level that made Athelstan shiver. How could anybody be so devastated? Nicholas never seemed to wallow in such feeling, he worked hard in the monastery gardens and was rarely idle, but his sadness was always thick around him. He wore it like a shroud, too vivid to be a lie used to lull the monks into false security before attacking them like his wolf-kin.

Athelstan still stayed away from him, hardly daring to breathe the same air. Nicholas needed God, but he would not turn to Him. Why would anyone choose such cold loneliness? Surely Nicholas could see how his own heathen gods had failed him? He was without spiritual comfort and aid; he had no family or friends to speak of. Why would he not seek out the Lord who gave the monastery its peace?

Athelstan did not dare to ask.

Then one day, he sought a drink of water and discovered Nicholas there already, standing close to the well. Athelstan's heart thumped hard, his stomach lurching. He would have hurried away, as he had done many times before, but then Nicholas caught sight of him and smiled welcomingly. He did not show his teeth but Athelstan imagined them anyway. Did one who spent time with werewolves, who mated with them, become like them too? Why would anyone choose to become their kin?

So Athelstan bobbed a nod towards Nicholas and concentrated on drawing himself a cool mouthful of water. Nicholas did not leave however, instead he looked out at the gardens that he clearly loved so much. Good crops were produced, for the monastery kitchens, to give to those who needed it, and to sell to support the monastery's life. Nicholas had aided in that, even though he did not share the brothers' faith. Some of the monks had believed that Nicholas would have caused them ill with his garden work, that he would have caused them to sicken so that he could have sacked the monastery but when none suffered, such theories were swept away.

"You're a very quiet cub."

Athelstan startled, so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed that Nicholas's gaze had travelled to him. He swallowed and called on God's strength so that he might resist the words of the heathen the Lord had sent to them.

Nicholas appeared to expect a response so Athelstan gave him honest words. "I don't know what to say."

Nicholas's smile widened. "You've never stepped beyond these walls, have you?"

"I go to the market with our crops, and to help those who suffer," Athelstan felt compelled to reply, defensive in a way that made his chest clench. "Soon I will travel far to spread the message of our Lord."

"But you have not lived anywhere but here?"

"I was left here as a baby."

Nicholas nodded. "A good place to guarantee a child's safety and nourishment."

Athelstan finished his cup full of water but did not leave immediately. Nicholas was not...he was not the monster of Athelstan's fevered dreams. But Athelstan would be careful; he would not be swayed by kind words. The stories his brothers had told still lingered.

But Nicholas's sadness and despair lingered also.

"Is there anything you would have me bring to the Lord at vespers?" Athelstan asked quietly.

Nicholas looked surprised, his gaze raking Athelstan thoroughly. Perhaps he had heard the hard words of the brothers. Athelstan felt suddenly and deeply ashamed.

"Only that I would find my way to peace," Nicholas replied at last.

Athelstan nodded, glad that he could do something to ease the heavy shroud that surrounded Nicholas. He turned to go, noticing that Nicholas was watching him, not with a predatory glint but rather with an interest that did not sit entirely well with Athelstan. He hurried away.

He remembered to bring Nicholas into his vespers at sundown, asking the Lord for healing and peace for what hurt the man so, he asked for Nicholas to seek the Lord, for Athelstan to know how to bring Nicholas closer to God without breaking the promise that Father Cuthbert had made to the man.

Athelstan slept better that night; the monsters circled but did not come close.

The next time that he spoke to Nicholas, Athelstan was in the gardens, tending to some of the tender shoots that would become abundant crops with God's blessing. Nicholas was watering the rows in front of Athelstan, and Athelstan noticed, as Nicholas adjusted his shirt in the heat, that the man's neck was very clearly marked. In fact...was that a bite?

Athelstan dropped the basket he was carrying and Nicholas turned at the sound, his eyebrows arched questioningly.

"Cub?"

Athelstan's hands were shaking as he bent to reclaim his basket. His thoughts raced – hadn't Nicholas sworn that he was not a wolf? How could he retain such a bite then? How many falsehoods had he told?

Nicholas slowly came closer; his movement deliberate as though to not startle Athelstan. "What frightened you? Did you hear something?"

Athelstan tried not to stare, one of his hands twitching. Nicholas rubbed a hand across his jaw and down, realising that his shirt was no longer covering his mark. His expression darkened and he readjusted his clothing. He seemed to require several moments to compose himself, his sadness now thicker than usual. Athelstan felt rooted to the spot, curiosity and horror building in him. Should he warn Father Cuthbert? Should he...?

"Cub, Athelstan," Nicholas called for his attention. "My bite shook you, you think me an animal?"

Athelstan nodded quickly. "The bite brings forth the wolf."

Everybody knew that, it was the truth that Athelstan had been taught at a young age and now there was a wolf here, in Lindisfarne. Nicholas shook his head.

"It is true that werewolves are made by a bite from another wolf that breaks the skin," he said, quiet and firm. "But some are born with the change already in them. Their nature is set by the gods."

Athelstan's eyes widened and he felt quite breathless. Some were born werewolf, not human? "No one tells such a story."

"Wolves do not speak of such things to those outside of pack, and the bite is something outsiders often witness, if a wolf attacks."

That did make sense. Athelstan tucked the knowledge away. "So what is your bite, if it does not mark you as a wolf?"

Nicholas's expression darkened again and his fingers touched where the cloth of his shirt covered the mark. He appeared wrecked by memories.

"That is not a question to ask a wolf, or any within a pack. Some would kill you for it. A bite is not the business of outsiders."

Athelstan shivered, reminded vividly of the very nature of wolves. He wondered if he should shout and gain attention, but Nicholas was not threatening him. It was more of a warning for Athelstan to heed when outside the monastery's walls.

Nicholas continued. "Mine shows I was claimed by a wolf, that I mated with one."

His countenance was unbearably sad once more and Athelstan clenched his fingers around the basket's handle, mentally noting to bring Nicholas' grief into his prayers most fervently. The man was no wolf, but he was shattered by his time with them, due to mourning and despair. It was a great burden for one man to bear, if only he would lay it onto God...

"There's much you and your brothers do not know of wolves," Nicholas said suddenly into the silence. "This could weigh heavily against you when spreading your god's word."

Another warning and this one made Athelstan's heart hammer fast. He had heard of encounters with werewolves, how terrifying it could be. It was true that he could meet such creatures whilst talking of God's love out in the world and he could offend or anger them. But were there ways to prevent such things? Werewolves were thoughtless beasts driven by ravening greed.

Nicholas cocked his head. "I will speak to you of the knowledge you lack; I would not see you taken from this world yet."

Athelstan stared at him. "What do you ask in return?"

Nicholas's smile was sad and heavy. "That you listen."

So Athelstan began lessons with Nicholas, they were not frequent, only when both had time and space for such meetings. Nicholas told him stories.

"You can believe them or not, but they will save your life should you meet a pack."

Athelstan learned that he should bare his neck to a wolf if he respected them, some wolves would expect deference as a greeting but it was Athelstan's choice. He learned about alphas – those who were dominant and intense and usually physically stronger – and about betas who submitted to alphas. Alphas were possessive of their betas and marked them for the world to see. They fought over betas and were jealous of any who touched them. Alphas had been slain because of how they had treated a beta.

"Jocelyn could smell if an alpha had lightly brushed against my shoulder," Nicholas remarked. "Scent matters a great deal."

Jocelyn. That had been the name of Nicholas's mate. She had been an alpha, fierce and proud and had claimed Nicholas after winning a fight for him against several other alphas.

"Jocelyn won the right to pursue me. If I had rejected her, others would have wanted to claim me. In other packs, there would have been no choice at all for me. One of the pack's alphas would have taken me, regardless of my objections. Jocelyn's pack let me choose my Alpha though they would not have allowed me to leave their land if that had been my wish, I smelled too good to them."

Athelstan filed away every detail, horrifying or not. He flushed at the thought of snarling alphas fighting over someone like a piece of meat, at the idea that Nicholas had been a prisoner and then passed on. Nicholas was not offended by such an idea, listening as Athelstan struggled to verbalise his distress.

"Betas are not always plentiful," he explained. "I was too important to let go."

"You could have been…"

"I was happy," Nicholas interrupted firmly.

He talked of Jocelyn, of what he had felt for her from the first moment, of those who still tried to claim him after he and Jocelyn had become mates. Some alphas never gave up pursuing even then, they were truly greedy. Those were the wolves that filled the brothers' horrifying stories.

"We aren't monsters, Athelstan, but we are monstrous."

Athelstan's expression twisted at Nicholas's choice of words. He was human, so why did he include himself among the monstrous? Was that what being part of a pack was like?

Father Cuthbert did not seem angry when Athelstan told him about the time he now spent with Nicholas.

"He is preparing you for what you may encounter," Father Cuthbert noted.

"God will protect me."

Athelstan's words should not have sounded like a question, but Father Cuthbert did not seem angry or disappointed.

"He will, and He will send help."

Athelstan absorbed Father Cuthbert's advice and continued to spend time with Nicholas. The man's sadness lightened sometimes, but it never truly disappeared. Athelstan prayed hard, asking for strength and direction in helping Nicholas. Nicholas himself smiled when he saw Athelstan's concern.

"I do not want to lose all of my burden," he revealed.

Athelstan was astonished, his expression uncomprehending, as Nicholas answered the unspoken question.

"To be rid of all my pain and sadness, it draws Jocelyn further from me still."

Nicholas often left Athelstan with much to think about. He spent many hours working and praying, turning over the words. Why would Nicholas hold onto that great burden of pain and sadness? God called for everyone to cast their cares onto Him, Athelstan prayed hard that Nicholas would, but he did not say such things aloud. He would not break Father Cuthbert's promise to Nicholas, no matter how much he wished to implore Nicholas to give everything to the Lord, to find true comfort and peace in Him.

Nicholas smiled as though he knew Athelstan's thoughts, but he did not complain.

For several years, he was part of the monastery but not one of the brothers. Most of the monks ignored him or their expressions hardened at his approach. Some of them told Athelstan that he would be dragged into Nicholas's sin by listening to him. But Nicholas and Athelstan did not discuss gods; they focused on the wolves beyond the walls.

Perhaps talking of Jocelyn, of the kin he had lost, perhaps that helped Nicholas. Athelstan thought that it did and so willingly listened.

Then he left the monastery to travel far and spread the message of God for the first time. He met people who closed their ears to such talk, but he and his brothers did not give up. Athelstan listened to languages unknown to him and learned one from a hermit who heard his talk of God and did not cast him out.

Once, Athelstan encountered a group of people who snarled and sniffed the air. His heart thumped loudly – which he now knew they could hear – but he nodded carefully and offered them a bag containing cuts of meat. A man with thick red hair snatched the bag away but looked at Athelstan with worrying consideration.

"I belong to God," Athelstan said quickly, many of Nicholas's stories swimming through his head.

The man grunted. "You smell of wolf."

"That pack lives no more."

It was all Athelstan would say, he did not know if Nicholas wanted his survival known. The man seemed to accept that and moved on, nodding abrupt thanks for the food. Brother Stephen looked thunderous, but Athelstan signalled for him to keep silent – the wolves' hearing stretched far.

When they reached their lodgings for the night, Brother Stephen rounded on him. "You consort with sinners and murderers, Athelstan."

"As did the Lord," Athelstan said quietly. "I show them His compassion."

"And they will tear your throat out after claiming peace and friendship."

Athelstan stayed silent; Stephen had met werewolves before, a meeting which had ended badly. Athelstan did not begrudge him his opinion, but didn't God call them all to love the unloved? Athelstan could see perhaps a way ahead, a way that God had planned?

Nicholas didn't laugh at him when Athelstan ventured this opinion. "Whatever path brought me here, I'm glad of it. You are a credit to your god."

Athelstan flushed and continued to learn from Nicholas, ensuring that such lessons did not infringe on his duties. He wrote the Lord's words with careful lavishness, wanting to show their beauty in every way. Nicholas was impressed when he saw the pages.

"Could you teach me letters?" he asked abruptly.

Athelstan paused, it was an unusual idea. What would Nicholas use the letters for? He had no kin to write to and he would not write of his beliefs, would he? That would break his word to Father Cuthbert.

Nicholas's eyes were filled with keen interest though as he gazed down at the ink and colours, so Athelstan consulted with Father Cuthbert and began letter lessons with Nicholas the next day. Nicholas helped him refine his knowledge of the languages he had encountered outside the monastery.

Eventually Nicholas could write his name. He penned Jocelyn's beside it.

It was a cold day when everything changed. Nicholas had been working in the kitchen since dawn, bringing in vegetables, humming quietly to himself. Most of the monks working there were ignoring him. He had been awake for many hours the previous night, standing out in front of the monastery, staring up at the large full moon.

"Wolves go wild under a full moon," he had told Athelstan. "The change is stronger in them, to resist it at such times does terrible things."

Athelstan had thought about the cruel yellow eyes from Stephen's stories and had shivered.

Now, he was attending to his work, to his papers and ink, his thoughts considering what passages he could provide Nicholas with to copy. Would it break the agreement if Nicholas copied the Bible? But then, voices broke his concentration. They were loud voices, full of terror. Athelstan scrambled out of his room to discover their source.

Many of the brothers were scattered, fear wide on their faces. But Nicholas was calm as he made his way out to stand beside Athelstan, and only raised his eyebrows when the invading force rapidly eating its way from the sea to the monastery was described as demonic.

Athelstan ran back into the monastery with his brothers, eager to hide their holy treasures, to not give them over to heathens. His mind was crowded with worry, fear and disbelief – what had the Lord sent them now?

But as he ran, he heard Nicholas behind him sigh with a keen, hungry, anticipation "Wolves."