Rough Sleepers

by Nem Rowan

  Table of Contents

  Rough Sleepers

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Part One

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Part Two

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Part Three

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Part Four

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Part Five

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Rough Sleepers

  NEM ROWAN

  Leon, drag performer and club owner, is attacked by a werewolf one night and loses an arm—and more, after massacring his club guests. Now homeless and tormented by nightmares, he runs away from everything he knows.

  Eventually, he meets Ceri, who invites Leon to live with him above a shop owned by a woman who lost her husband and son to a werewolf attack. She and Ceri are still hunting the unknown perpetrator, and Leon gladly lends his own assistance, eager to atone for his bloody past in the hopes he might one day be able to have a home and family again...

  Rough Sleepers

  Lunar Shadows 2

  By Nem Rowan

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by V. Duncan

  Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition October 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Nem Rowan

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313679

  Print ISBN 9781684313983

  In Memory of Dolphie

  8th August 2018

  Many thanks to my wife, April-Jane, who has been Leon's biggest fan for nearly 15 years. A special thankyou to Linn, who has been a source of support, advice and guidance to me in the world of Bookstagram; I would have been so lost without you! Also thankyou to Mx Ekho and the many lovely people who have taken part in my book promo, your support is much appreciated. A big thanks to Anna Jastrzembska for her guidance and observations on Polish language, and thankyou to Jarek and my other friends from Poland for making me so fond of your language and culture <3

  Part One

  Wrth gicio a brathu mae cariad yn magu.

  While kicking and biting, love develops.

  One

  It was freezing cold outside. I was so damned sick of the cold, the way it made every joint in my body ache, the way it made my eyes water and my nose run. The wind punished me when I walked into it. I was sick of it. I longed for summer, for warm nights when sleep could come easy and I wouldn't be kept awake night after night by the intolerable, gripping pain. It was the pain that made things harder. I was bitter, yes, but I would have at least been a bit more sociable if not for the fact that even the fillings in my teeth hurt. At least I had been able to spend the night somewhere warm, curled up on a hard bed in a room that smelled of piss. The smell was something I had grown immune to over the last couple of months. I could tolerate that. All it gave me was the overwhelming desire to cover it with my own scent.

  The police station was quiet; it was fast approaching ten o'clock at night, and in the depth of winter, there were few people about this Thursday evening. Officer Rob—I knew him by name as we had become quite acquainted with each other—took me out of my cell and let me out into the reception area while he went to fetch me my personal belongings, few that they were. I sat down on the creaking seats that lined the wall, wondering if there was some crime I could commit right here that would let me get locked up again. Even being in a cell was better than being out there on the frigid, ice-covered streets. I could go home, if it could still be called that after what had happened, but I wasn't sure if I could face up to it. The thought of returning after that terrible night filled me with dread and a crushing guilt so cruel that the only way to make myself go on was to banish it to the dark recesses of my mind and forget about it. This was my life now. Or, at least it would be until I figured out how to fix myself. Then maybe I could go back and see if everyone had healed. Maybe they could heal, but I never would. This wound inside me was going to last forever.

  I wiped my only hand over my face, pinching the corners of my eyes with finger and thumb. Oh, how I dreaded going outside. Yawning into my palm, I turned my head and looked across at the only other person who wasn't a police officer, who was sitting opposite me on one of the other cushioned benches. I hadn't noticed it at first, but a minute or two after I had sat down, I had caught a sniff of an interesting scent, and after breathing it in deeply, I began to realise that it was coming from him. I stared at him, not caring whether he found it rude. He was a scruffy old git anyway; he probably didn't have manners either. That was another thing I'd learned since becoming homeless; manners only mattered if you had money in your purse. This guy didn't look like he had a lot of that, either. He noticed me staring and glanced at me sideways as he pulled off his woollen gloves and took a tobacco tin out, removing the lid and examining the meagre contents before replacing it in the sagging pocket of his brown leather jacket. Underneath he wore a thick, grey turtleneck jumper with an equally dull grey scarf over the top, and his legs were clad in black jeans that might have been a size too big, tucked into the tops of his mid-calf Dr Martens. They were boots that looked like they had been walked from here to Australia and back, repaired in places with glue and mismatched laces.

  Clothes said a lot about a person, this I'd learned from a young age. That was why it had been so important for me to choose the clothes I wore. It was also why I had got into a lot of trouble refusing to wear school uniform as a teen, but that's a story for later.

  "Why don't you take a photo," the man grunted, his voice as rough as a metal gate being dragged across concrete.

  I looked up at his face. I had been busy staring at his rough hands, thick and badly marred by dermatitis that had caused deep cracks in his skin. I found his small, beady eyes staring back at me and noticed the scar that caused one of them to squint.

  "As if I'd want a photo of someone as ugly as you," I retorted calmly. I tried to keep the feminine purr from my voice but like a wild cat, it was hard to keep contained.

  He chuckled, tilted back his head. The unkempt mop of his chocolate-coloured hair flopped about his ears as he looked up at the ceiling. I was surprised he found my reply so amusing. In a way I was disappointed because I had hoped that if I started a fight with him, they might lock me up again, but instead it seemed he would be harder to provoke.

  "You ain't the first one to tell me that," he commented, and I heard the jolly lilt of his Welsh accent. It wasn't unusual to meet a Welshman here on the other side of the River Severn.

  "Bet yer mother was," I murmured, leaning forward and resting my chin in the palm of my hand. I shifted the stump of what remained of my other arm, tucking it away behind my body where he couldn't see.

  "What brings a friendly gentleman such as yourself by yere at this tim
e of night?" he asked, lacing his fingers together as he rested his hands in his lap.

  "I'm checking out of the hotel," I replied curtly. I didn't like to tell people my business; that implied that I cared what they thought. "And what about you? You checking in?"

  "No, actually. I'm just looking for somewhere warm to sit for awhile," he told me, not seeming put off by what I had said.

  "Oh. That's nice." I rolled my eyes, not really interested in his response. I sighed, leaning back and shivering as a cold breeze crept under the door and wafted across my legs. The dirty jogging bottoms I wore weren't enough to keep me warm, and they tended to soak up the snowmelt as they dragged along the ground. My tatty trainers weren't any better with holes in the soles.

  "Are you homeless?" he asked me outright.

  I shook my head, not wanting to look at him. I didn't want to admit it out loud, not even to the policemen that had caught me squatting in someone's empty house.

  "Here you go, Dave," Officer Rob called me by my false name as he emerged through the door behind the counter, bringing a cardboard box with him. He was handsome, perhaps a bit on the young side for my liking, but I appreciated his sense of humour.

  I got up, moving across to where he stood and reaching into the box to take out my stuff. All I had was a wallet with a few coins, a screwdriver and a packet containing a couple of bent cigarettes. I got everything back except for the screwdriver, since they knew damned well I wasn't using it to put up Ikea furniture. They wouldn't give it back knowing I might stick it in someone if I got mugged. I tucked my belongings away in the inner pockets of my duffel coat before zipping it up.

  "Well, thank you for the hospitality," I remarked as I turned to go.

  "I hope next time we meet, I won't be putting you in handcuffs." Rob smirked as I headed for the door, and I managed a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

  "Yeah, thanks. See ya," I spoke emotionlessly before the automatic doors sprung apart and let in the blustering wind that immediately stung my eyes.

  The side street was dark and dingy, but even if I made it to the brightly lit area of the city centre, it would do nothing to lift my mood. I shoved my hand in my pocket and balled it into a fist, hoping to retain some warmth. I didn't know where to go now. There was nowhere. I walked along the street known locally as the Gay Village, listening to the sound of Bronski Beat drifting out from within one of the clubs, crossing the road to avoid the queue of people in skimpy clothing waiting to go in. There had been a time where I would have been on the stage inside a club like that, and the people waiting outside were queueing to come and see me. How times had changed. I hid my face from them, knowing I wouldn't be recognised but still keeping up the precaution, because you never knew just when you might bump into someone who had once been a friend. The wind was making my eyes leak and I tried to blink the liquid away to no avail.

  "Hey! Hey, you!" a voice started shouting after me, but I straight up ignored it. Better to pretend I was deaf than humour some drunk moron.

  I turned sharply, taking the corner and crossing the road just as the lights changed, the oncoming traffic blocking the path of whoever was following. I heard his footfalls, heavy and cumbersome.

  "Hey, you, with the grey hair! From the police station!" the voice called, and I hazarded a glance over my shoulder.

  It was the scruffy man I had spoken to, standing on the other side of the crossing. I looked away and hunched my neck, burying my chin in my coat as I shuddered. Oh great, I had attracted a creep and now he wasn't going to leave me alone. I heard the traffic braking and then his footsteps approaching me from behind. I ignored him as he jogged up to walk beside me.

  "I know about what you are," he panted, his breath puffing out in clouds of pale steam around me, making me want to cover my mouth like it was poisonous.

  "Yeah, yeah. I'm homeless, you guessed it, wow," I murmured, refusing to look at him. "Bet ya went to university and got a PhD for that?"

  "No, not that you're homeless. I mean, the other thing," he told me as he put a roll-up between his lips and sparked his lighter. "I can smell it on you, which is a hard thing to do considering you smell like you've been sleeping under a washing machine at the dump."

  "Oh-ho, you're a comedian too?" I glared. "I never would have guessed to look at you."

  "You can scoff at me all you like but come the moon you'll be regretting blowing me off like this. If you want my help, I can give it you, but don't come looking for me if you're gonna ignore me now," he spoke sternly, smoke puffing from his nostrils and his hair flapping in the wind.

  I stopped abruptly and turned to look at him, and he stopped, too, standing before me. I looked down when he took out his tin and offered me a cigarette. His small eyes regarded me coaxingly as I took one and let him light it for me. When he leaned close to cup his hands around the lighter, I smelled his scent again; it was strong, musky, but it wasn't his scent. It had rubbed off on him from someone else.

  "So," I began, sucking on the cigarette and breathing in the smoke deeply. It tasted like camel shit, but it was better than what I had been smoking. "What's this about you helping me out?"

  "I don't really want to talk about it by yere. It's fucking cold and my fingers are rotting off. Can I take you somewhere warmer?" he gestured towards town and I raised my eyebrows at him.

  "Oh really, are you going to buy me dinner? I'll give you a clue, the answer is: yes, Leon," I blew smoke in his face, but he didn't cough.

  "So your name is Leon," he assumed and I nodded. "My name's Ceri."

  "Isn't Kerry a girl's name?" I replied as we started to walk along the street, the headlights of cars flashing across our faces and the scent of beer and takeaway food drifting on the breeze.

  "Ceri with a C, it's not a girl's name." He sounded annoyed at me.

  "I had a dog called Kerry." I grinned, making a little skip in my step as I remembered that fat little Staffy cross my mum had once owned.

  "Ceri with a C, not a K," he repeated, emphasis on the C as he scowled at me. "Anyway, you're the dog now, not I. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "Where are we eating, then? I'm bloody starving. I expect three courses, by the way. Maybe four. The food they served in the police station was nasty, but beggars can't be choosers." I questioned as we approached another crossing.

  "It'll be somewhere cheap if that's the case," he arched an eyebrow at me. "I don't have a lot of money myself, so don't go thinking you can take me to the bank."

  As it turned out, we ended up in a certain red and yellow themed, popular fast food restaurant whose name I shall not mention. He bought me chips, chicken nuggets, a double cheeseburger, a tub of ice cream and a milkshake. It wasn't food I normally would have eaten in my previous life, but food was food and I took what I could get. He sat opposite me, dipping his chips in a pot of ketchup as he watched me stuffing my face with my only hand. The restaurant was desolate; the staff behind the counter were milling about, and one of them was mopping the floor on the other side of the store. It felt so good to be indoors again, filling my belly.

  "Was your hair grey before, or after the curse?" he asked as I licked the mustard from the corners of my mouth.

  "Before. I've always been grey," I told him, pulling the gherkin from my burger. It made a loud crunch between my teeth. "Stress'll do that to ya. I'm guessing you've had an easy life judging from those few grey hairs at your temples."

  He grunted, his eyelashes obscuring his gaze as he looked down at his pile of chips.

  "Well, you're wrong there. But that's besides the point. So, how long have you been a werewolf?" He changed the subject.

  "Three months now. How did you guess what I was?" I asked curiously. That was one thing I genuinely wanted to know, because before I had thought no one could guess. Physically, I looked completely normal. Well, besides my long, silvery hair, but that was something I had had long before. It's not like I had pointy ears and a tail to single me out in the crowd.


  "I smelled it on you. To a human, you smell like a wet dog, only ten times worse. People probably just think you stink because you're homeless." He made a slight smirk as he ate another chip. "I'm assuming you lost your arm to the beast?"

  I nodded, wondering when he was going to bring that up.

  "How have you managed the last full moons?" he inquired with a sliver of hesitance.

  "I haven't managed. I'm guessing I've killed people, but it's hard to tell what are just nightmares and what are memories." I shrugged, my expression becoming sour.

  "You don't sound very desperate. I thought you'd be more upset. The last werewolf I met was." he smiled grimly as he leaned back in his seat and wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

  "Oh, what's that, you want me crawling on the floor weeping into your trouser leg, huh? Well sorry, but that ain't gonna happen. Don't forget buddy, you're the one who followed me, not the other way around," I reminded him as I leaned my elbow on the table top. "I didn't survive by waiting for other people to look out for me. So don't go thinking that if you walk away that I'll somehow float off in the gutter like a turd."

  He laughed, his eyes closing briefly, and when they opened again, he looked directly at me, his steel blue irises winking in the harsh overhead lighting.

  "There's a lot of anger in you," he pointed out.

  "Are you offering a psychiatric assessment, too? Well, well, aren't we a jack of all trades." I picked up my milkshake and tried to suck the thick liquid up the straw, but it was so dense that I gave up and put it down again.

  "No, 'twas just an observation. So do you want my help or not?"

  I grumbled, my mouth full of burger, and he watched me chew and swallow patiently. I rubbed my nose in my coat sleeve, sniffing.

  "I'll take your help, but I don't know what you think you can do for me," I mumbled, poking at a piece of meat stuck in my tooth with the tip of my tongue. "I've even tried suicide and that didn't work, so I can't think what else will."

  "It takes a lot to kill a werewolf. Do you know anything about werewolves?" he spoke as I continued to munch away at my burger.