They ended up sitting round the kitchen table the next night, almost as if nothing had happened. George had been let out of hospital that morning with a more or less clean bill of health. The doctors were still puzzling over his weak heart, but not so much that they needed to keep him in and investigate it further. They'd run a series of ECGs while he'd been in, and found no further anomalies, so all they could really do was clock it up as another medical mystery, and warn him to watch for any unusual symptoms in the future. The pills he'd swallowed in an attempt to end his life hadn't done any lasting harm, but he'd been lucky. They made very sure he was aware of that. He could have ended up with permanent liver damage, or even brain damage. Instead he was walking away with his life and his health intact. They did sign him up to a course of treatments with a therapist, however, something he was just so looking forward to. But he'd been lucky. Very lucky.

The other two were just happy to have him back, happy to have their household completed again. It never seemed right when one of them was missing, and every crisis they went through seemed to bring them closer together, make them appreciate what they had.

Now they were just chatting, calmly, laughing. Annie was telling a story about something she'd seen at the hospital, in a room that she'd accidentally appeared in, and received quite a shock to see one of the doctors playing doctor with one of the nurses. Both George and Mitchell knew who she was talking about, so the story went down well, and they drank their tea and coffee, and tried to imagine that things were getting back to normal.

But they weren't quite there yet. One day before his transformation, George was anxious and twitchy. He hadn't managed to speak to Nina again: she hadn't been in the hospital when he'd been discharged. One of her friends told him that she'd gone home sick the day before, and didn't know when she'd be back. She looked at him oddly when she spoke, judging, slightly disdainful.

George had turned away quickly, feeling ashamed and didn't go to seek Nina out at home, though he had left messages on her phone: heartfelt apologies and pleadings for her to talk to him. He said that she needed help, and he could help her, and that he was sorry, so sorry for what had happened.

They all flinched at the banging knock on the front door and looked at each other, questioningly. George got slowly to his feet. He was still a bit sore, mostly from where they'd shocked him when his heart stopped, but his hesitation was more of an emotional reluctance to face the outside world again.

"I'll go," he said, grimacing, and picked up his glasses from the table as he walked away. It was a habit. As usual, his eyesight was now 20:20, a gift from the wolf. He wouldn't need his glasses again for several days. But he put them on anyway and looked through the clouded glass in the door.

It was her.

They faced each other in the doorway. It was one of those moments.

They don't happen very often, those moments. They were points were something had happened between two people, something incredible, or awful or fantastic. Something that couldn't be ignored, or swept away as most things now were between people. It was something that had to be addressed, and although the outcome was uncertain, it always involved change.

He opened the door wide, inviting her in without words, and she complied. He couldn't read the expression on her face and she stepped into the living room and looked around, catching sight of Mitchell and Annie in the kitchen, and turning away from them quickly.

George sensed her desire for privacy.

"Uh – do you – want to go upstairs?" he suggested quietly.

"Sure," she said, and headed instantly for the steps in front of them.

George glanced at his housemates, who gave him a sympathetic look, then he headed after her.

Nina had stripped off her bag and her jacket by the time he reached his room. It was clean and tidy, all the debris left by his misadventure and the activities of the paramedics now cleared away, his bedding changed (presumably by Annie), little lying around.

George closed the door behind him as he went in, holding on to the door handle briefly in a reluctance to face her. But then he let go and faced up to what he had to do.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, turning towards her.

"Funny," she said. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm fine," he said quietly.

"I'm – raging," she said, nodding. "Really, really, really – just…" she didn't have the words.

"I know," he whispered.

She blew out a breath. "This – feeling it's just so – wild – so powerful. Is this it, is this what it means to be us, to be what we are?"

He nodded. "The wolf starts to…" he tipped his head to the side, hands in his pockets, as he tried to find the right word. "Take you over. It's always like this. It's under your skin by now."

"I can hear things," she exclaimed. "People talking down the street, I can hear every word they say. And the smells – Jesus! How can you stand being at the hospital when it's like this? It's overpowering!"

"You get used to it – or you learn to accept it anyway."

"It's incredible," she went on. "I feel like an animal George, like nothing can touch me, like nothing can stop me!"

He went up to her. "Nina, you've got to control it."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because it's not who you are," he insisted. "You're a nurse, you're smart, you're funny, you're not afraid of anyone. You're only this, only the wolf for one day a month. Don't let it take you over, or imagine that you can lose yourself in it. Because you can't. You're human, you're not this. You're not an animal."

"But I am, George," she said, her voice scary. She came right up to him. "And so are you." She looked around, seeing the light of the almost full moon falling through the window. "Do you remember the night we first kissed," she whispered. "It was here, on this bed, and the moon was like this. Is that why you stopped? You were afraid of this feeling, the animal, afraid of what would happen if you let it out. And that's what happened the next day wasn't it? You were about to change when you fucked me in that room at the hospital. Do you remember that?" She came even closer to him, touching him.

He could smell her, feel her. She was his world. She was everything he wanted.

"Do you remember what it was like? Don't you want that again?" She turned her face up towards his, her mouth open, willing.

"I do," he muttered. "Oh God Nina, I do. But you can't let it rule you."

"Why not?" she said, leaning even closer. "Isn't this what we are? Isn't this what you made me?"

He felt his heart skip a beat. "I didn't want to make you like me," he said. "I never wanted this for you."

"But this is who I am now," she whispered.

He closed his eyes, breathing hard, struggling with his feelings and his screaming desires, and this pain within him, this terrible overpowering drive that threatened to tear away every scrap of humanity and turn him into the beast that he feared more than anything in the world.

"You can't hurt me any more George," he heard Nina say. "You can let go."

A single tear dropped from the corner of his eye, and he opened them again, his pupils dilating as her face came once more into view.

"You can let go," she whispered again.

And then, in a rush of movement, and emotion, and hurt and joy…

He did.

---

Annie and Mitchell looked up, momentarily confused by the bang from overhead that sounded as though a large, heavy item of furniture had been knocked over and sent crashing to the ground.

"What on earth?" Annie said. "Is she throwing things at him?"

Mitchell opened his mouth, suddenly aware of what was probably going on.

More bangs followed, and someone crying out, possibly in pain. Possibly not.

"I think they're – working things out," he said cryptically.

"By violence?" Annie questioned. "That's not very healthy. Shouldn't we go and see if he needs help?" she got to her feet.

"No!" Mitchell cried, grabbing her cold arm. "I'd – um, I'd leave them to it."

"But Mitchell, she might be hurting him!"

Another cry came, a distinctively George-ish shriek. They both looked at the ceiling, as though the plasterboard could somehow reveal what was happening. There was another crash.

"Yeah – I think he's probably enjoying it," Mitchell told her.

"He's…?" she looked at him, totally confused. And then realization hit her. "Oh," she said. "Oh – you mean they're…"

"I think it's quite likely," he said.

Annie sat back down. "Oh," she said again.

"Yeah."

"I didn't think he was the type."

Mitchell smiled and picked up his mug. "It's wolf time," he said. "I think there may actually be an advantage for him in having a girlfriend who's a werewolf too. It's probably not something he's even thought about. But he was always so worried about hurting her." He took a drink. "I don't think he needs to be worried any more."

"Gosh," Annie said.

There was another crash, and then a banging noise set in.

"You think they're destroying the room?" she asked.

"Ah, it's only a room," Mitchell smiled. "Come on, you want to go out?"

The banging sound got louder. Annie looked at the ceiling once more, slightly primly. "Yeah," she said. "That sounds like a good idea."

Mitchell grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, still smiling, as they both got to their feet and headed quickly for the door.

---

George reached for Nina's cigarette and took a draw of it, eliciting a look of confusion and scorn from his girlfriend.

"You don't smoke," she pointed out.

He coughed. "Oh, yeah," he said, his face screwing up, and he coughed again, looking around for the glass of water that was usually sitting on his chest of drawers. But if there had been a glass there once, it was now smashed into very small pieces and hidden amongst the rest of the debris on the floor. He swallowed uncomfortably and handed the cigarette back to her. She smiled, amused by him, and took it.

"How do you smoke those?" he wondered.

"Practice," she said, blowing out smoke, and surveying the general destruction of the room. "We made a bit of a mess," she commented.

"No, we made a lot of a mess," he corrected cheerfully, his eyes moving from the wardrobe, now lying on its front, with clothes spewing out from under its splayed doors, to the bed, which was turned on its side the sheets in disarray, one of the pillows poking out from its torn case, feathers leaking out like innards from a gutted animal.

Nina laughed, pulling the duvet up further round her chest. "Why do you have such a small room anyway?" she asked. "Mitchell's room's much bigger than yours. How did you let that happen?"

"He wanted it north facing," he said rubbing his face with his hands. "Less sunlight."

She smiled. "Bloody vampires."

"Yeah," George agreed. "They don't like us, you know."

"What, werewolves?"

"Mm," he confirmed. "Watch yourself with that. A bunch of them tried to beat me to death once."

"How did you get away?" she wondered, flicking ash onto a broken saucer she'd found among the debris.

"Mitchell saved me," he said. "That's how we met."

"Why did he stop them if vampires don't like us?"

George shook his head, raising his eyebrows. "I don't know. He just didn't think they should be beating up perfectly innocent lycos I suppose."

She smiled again. "Lycos?"

"Lycanthropes," he said, almost amused by the word.

"Well," she said, taking another drag. "That's a new one."

"Yeah, I think there might be quite a lot of new things happening in your life from now on." He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. She leaned into it, prolonging it as long as possible.

Then they drew apart.

"I can't believe," she said, her eyes still closed. "That you stopped that night."

"What, that first night with you?" he said.

"Yeah. It must have killed you."

He shrugged. "I didn't want to kill you. When I realized I was losing control, something just – kicked in, and I couldn't do it any more."

"What, even though you could have been having the best sex ever?" she asked incredulously.

"Some things are more important," he said seriously.

She sighed. "It's going to be hell, isn't it."

"What?"

"The transformation tomorrow."

He moved closer to her, put his arm around her. "It is," he admitted. "But you will endure it, and it won't kill you. I think that was what was worst about the first time for me, that fear of death." He took in a deep breath. "I didn't think you could be in that much pain and not die. But then I woke up the next day, and I was naked, and I was cold, and I was alone. But I was alive, Nina. It didn't kill me, and it won't kill you."

She settled in to his embrace. "I guess there's nothing I can do," she said. "You ever thought about taking drugs or something?"

"What, like pain killers?"

"Yeah, a good shot of diamorphine just before it happens."

He chortled. "If you want. Though I'm not sure adding drug addiction to being a werewolf is something I want to try."

"Mm," she took a final drag and stubbed out her cigarette. "So talk me through it," she said. "Tell me exactly what happens."