Spoilers for episode 3 of series 3
Moon Rising
The whole house exudes death now. It papers the corridors; it's in Nina's clothes, in her hair as he kisses her goodnight. The soft putrefaction of it twists knots in his stomach.
More than anything, he wants to touch death's opposite. He's placed his hands there before; fallen asleep with one arm around her, cupped the curve above her hip the night Bernie was hit. But Nina's back is arched against his chest, and the thought of reaching over gives a fresh tug at those intractable knots. It's like the first, clenching spasms of a transformation, raw and animal and almost appallingly fierce.
They have all come to feel the same; fear, and love, and the wolf. They compose him.
He tries to listen past his own breathing. Smell past the decay.
He brackets himself about her body, closing the space between them as tightly as he dares, and waits.