Beary Overdue (Polar Bliss 1) by Ruby Shae Page B

morning ritual. He uncapped the bottle and shook five or six pills in his hand, then threw them in his mouth, turned on the faucet and washed them down with water from his cupped hand.
    A triple dose of the medication wouldn’t make his headache disappear, but it would reduce the skull-splitting pain back to a dull ache. A shower would also help, and he turned on the water as he waited for the meds to take effect.
    As the cold water cooled his heated skin, and washed away the remnants of the night before, he thought about the first night he’d worked someplace other than Polar Bliss .
    A lot had changed in five years, and the difference made him frown.
    The Dirty Bear , his bar, was a far cry from the wholesome, family owned coffee house he grew up in, and not in a good way.
    He could blame the atmosphere on the flux of patrons that weren’t locals, the amount of liquor that poured from the bar, or the fact that his response to a fight was usually to join in, but those were excuses.
    The facts were simple.
    He was to blame for all of it.
    Though there was a jukebox and a tiny dance floor in the corner, people came to The Dirty Bear for liquor, fights and sex, and he engaged in those activities just as much, if not more than, his patrons.
    He couldn’t remember the last time he’d endured a whole night without at least one drink, and it was usually much more than one. When a fight broke out, he only stopped it long enough to send the fists outside, and then he usually joined the crowd to see the outcome.
    The sign in the back parking lot ordered customers to park at their own risk, and the asphalt looked like the floor of a boxing ring.
    Inevitably, after watching a fight fizzle out, someone with too much ego would challenge him to put on a better show, and he never declined. His shifter blood allowed him to accept every punch with minimal damage, and he welcomed the sting of the fists. He had more stamina than the biggest, baddest humans, and it didn’t take long for them to accept defeat and return to the bar for more alcohol.
    Every show of strength resulted in a throng of women hanging on his every word, hoping for a chance to spread their legs, and he only had to pick his favorite.
    Images of the girl from the night before came back to him, and he winced. She’d had long, black, hair that weighed heavy from several styling products, and it felt abrasive against his skin. Her long, manicured nails were painted black, and resembled claws even though she wasn’t a shifter. She’d constantly scraped his skin as if she were the star of a porno movie, and he was grateful he healed fast from most things and the marks were all gone. Her voice had been worse than the nails, and he’d fucked her hard and fast so she’d shut up sooner than later.
    Luckily it had worked.
    As soon as they were done, she’d rolled over and fallen asleep, and though he wasn’t sure when she’d taken off, he was glad she was gone. All of the women he fucked knew they were getting nothing but sex, and he hated getting rid of stragglers the following day. Aside from being the complete opposite of what he’d call his type, they never stifled his need for his mate.
    If he were being completely honest, no other woman would ever satisfy him the way his mate had, but some offered more comfort than others. It was the only reason he tried at all, even though he rarely woke up fulfilled.  
    He shook his head. Drinking, fighting and sex with strangers kept his demons at bay, but only one thing would get rid of them completely, and it was the only thing he could never have.
    Seven years ago, his mate, Jillian Masters had left him in favor of a new life. Unlike his still single siblings, he’d been lucky enough to find his mate when he was only seventeen years old. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to keep her.
    After a year of friendship, they’d dated for two years, and then she’d left town—with his heart, and all of the good inside