I was only able to see her once a year. I only allowed myself to see her once a year, to seek her out and revel in the way she did things. From the way she stirred her coffee (three sugars, one cream), to the way she rolled her eyes at the male cops in her precinct. I'd start my morning on the roof across from wherever she lived and, for an hour or two, I just listened to her sleep, the steady thrumming of her heart, the soft whisper of her breath, and the tiniest whimper she made just before she woke up. I arranged for the day after her mother's death anniversary. The day before was too sad and the day of was too intrusive. But the day after, she slept half an hour longer and pampered herself just a little more.

It was year eight. The year before we actually met and shook hands and I got to hear her say my name. She didn't have a boyfriend at that time and I didn't have to listen to some guy wander around her apartment waking her up. Instead, at seven thirty, her alarm clock started screaming a power ballad and she released that tiny whimper before her hand slammed down on the snooze button. I rose up from laying and peeked over the roof in time to see her roll out of bed. She was a cop. She should have known better than to leave her curtains open, but she didn't and it wasn't like I could tell her to shut them, so I just watched her wander her apartment, disappearing in and out of the bathroom.

I couldn't see her in the bathroom, and I wouldn't have looked if I could have seen, but I could hear her. I could hear the sloshing of the water and an errant giggle that I wished I understood. I sat on the roof with my back to her apartment and my eyes shut tight, imagining what it would be like to watch the bubbles slide off of her tight, tanned skin. My burner ringing shook me from my auditory daydream.

"Hey, JT," I sighed.

"How's stalking going?"

"She's taking a bath."

He choked and sputtered, "What? You can see her?"

"No!" I denied quickly. "I can hear her."

"Same thing, pervert. Are you coming back early or late this year?"

"Late."

"Right, big guy." I hated the smirk I could hear in JT's voice. I came back early on years she had a boyfriend living with her, late on years she lived alone.

"I saved her life, JT. Now I'm just checking in."

"See, no, this is checking in. This right here. Me calling you, talking for five minutes and then hanging up. What you're doing, the all day following thing, that's stalking, and it's dangerous."

"Your five minutes are up, JT."

I hung up and tuned back into her apartment. She was out of the bathtub and she was drying herself off. I was too far away to smell her but I wanted to so bad. I wanted to know what perfume she used and what kind of body wash. If she'd changed it since the last time I saw her. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but a few times a year I would happen across the path she took to the precinct. Sometimes, I managed to catch her. Sometimes, I didn't. But I only followed her once a year. I only sought her out once a year. She was getting dressed in her apartment and I knew she would be a few more minutes before she was ready to leave the apartment. I debated sitting on the roof and listening to her some more or going down to her favorite coffee shop and waiting for her there.

It didn't sound like she'd be doing anything else so I climbed down from the roof and went to her coffee shop. I bought her favorite coffee, something I hated pronouncing, and sat at a table in the back. For as badass of a woman she was, she still had a weakness for her overly flavored, complicated coffee. She came in fifteen minutes later, her hair blow dried and lying across her shoulders casually. She teased the barista for a second before she grabbed her coffee and headed towards the door. I stood up quickly and made as if I were casually leaving, not as if I were following her, just so I could intercept her at the door, hold it open for her, breathe in a scent that was a mix of peppermint and some flowery stuff. It was the same as it had been for years. I couldn't wait to catch her when she got done at work, when she smelled like all of her and some sweat.

"Thank you," she said with her warm, inviting smile when I held the door open.

"You're welcome. Have a good day."

"You too." With that, she left the shop. She'd easily forget about her interaction with a stranger in a ball cap. I almost wished she'd come in one day and notice that I ordered her ridiculously complicated drink and she'd ask me about it and we'd talk. But that happened to normal guys and I wasn't one of them.

I climbed buildings so I could follow her without her seeing me. I knew I was a crazy stalker. I didn't need her to know that I was a crazy stalker. Especially not since she would look into me and would realize that a dead man was following her through the streets of New York once a year. She walked to the precinct and I rested on the roof to listen to her work. I listened to her argue with those dicks who always taunted her and her partner. I listened to her argue with her boss and then they went on a run, that I also happened to be on.

Her day was calm, easy. She interviewed some witnesses in a murder, filed paperwork, and then went for a couple drinks with her partner. After which, I followed her home to rest on her roof that time. In the night, it was easier not to be seen. It was easy all of the time, but it was even better at night. I listened to her pour herself a glass of wine. Probably red. She preferred red over white, just like she preferred whiskey over tequila. I listened to her for a while. She drank a couple of glasses of wine, talked on the phone with her father, and undressed to crawl into bed. I climbed partway down the fire escape to listen to her clothes hitting the floor. I didn't look. I never would look. I had an advantage other perverts didn't. I could see in the dark. But that didn't mean I'd use it.

Instead, I just listened to her. I listened to the sheets peel back and her small body slide in between the mattress and the blankets. I listened to her toss and turn for a few moments before she went still. But her heart beat didn't calm. Her breathing didn't settle. She just lay, very , very, very still, and then I heard the first aggravated sigh. I listened curiously.

"Fucking hormones," she snarled into the darkness.

"Hormones," I mouthed.

"Ugh," she growled again. I heard her feet hit the floor and she made her way over to where I knew her dresser was. She dug through one of the drawers and made her way back to the bed, muttering under her breath about a coffee shop dude and why she just needed to get laid.

"Oh, no, no, no," I hissed under my breath. I should have left the fire escape. I should have left her building. But instead, I listened to her climb beneath the sheets and then the buzz started. The tiny, almost nonexistent buzz that tipped me off to what was going on just as the flood of pheromones hit the air.

"Mmmm…" Her voice was light and the buzzing became muffled. I squeezed my eyes tight and grasped at the bars with my hands, doing my best to resist the urge to look. I could only imagine her body rolling at the pleasure of what was happening between her legs. I squeezed my eyes tighter.

I could see me walking into a room with her on the bed, her skin on display for me. I could see me climbing onto the bed, my knee pressed between her thighs and her hands coming up to rest on my face. I could feel the path my hands would take as they slid from her knees to her thighs, up to her hips, to her waist, her breasts, her shoulders, her face, and then to tangle in her hair. I'd pull her up to my face, pull her up to my lips so that I could spread kisses from her temple down to her jaw, to her mouth. I'd explore her, just holding her there so only our mouths were together, promising more than just a kiss. Finally, after I had my fill, I'd move on. Trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck, her chest and her waist, taking one pert nipple in my mouth, then the other. She moaned from her bedroom just as my daydream stretched across her breasts and my pants were suddenly so intensely tight that I couldn't bear it.

She moaned again and I imagined it being from my hands trailing down her stomach, down her hips to dip inside her heat, wet and tight. She was small. I knew she'd be tight. I imagined my mouth following the trail of my hands, kissing her hips, kissing her thighs, moving further towards the center so I could kiss her where she needed it. The little gasps and moans she was releasing fed my lust. I imagined moving back up to her mouth after she came for me again and again. Joining our bodies together and rocking back and forth inside of her.

My hands gripped the fire escape tighter as her breathing sped up. I couldn't keep my hips from moving, rocking gently while I resisted moving my hand where I really needed it. Her heart rate was racing. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't hold on. Then, her breathing stopped, her gasping stopped, her moans stopped, and I worried that something had happened, though I could still hear her erratic heartbeat. Then, she came apart. Her moan filled the air, long and drawn out and guttural and I felt the roar rising in my throat. I felt the ownership tearing me apart from the inside out and I fought it. I took off so quickly that the fire escape rattled behind me.

Back at the safe house, JT was typing busily at his computer. He looked up with one eyebrow raised and commented, "You're back early."

"Don't fucking ask."

"Are you…are you beasting out, dude? Holy shit! What happened?" He stood up quickly and made his way across the room where we kept the tranq gun.

"Don't fucking ask." I snarled again.

"Oh my god, dude, I'm not trying to be on your case or anything but seriously, go take care of that in your room."

I looked down to where JT was pointedly not looking and growled again. "I'd give anything to be able to get laid again."

"Well, stop stalking hot girls and you wouldn't be so frustrated."

I snarled again and made my way to my room.