Emi looked up at the sound of plastic falling to the floor, and something fluttered in her stomach. Maou was looking at her from the entryway of her apartment, just staring. She felt her cheeks tinge slightly, against her will.

"Wha—how long have you been standing there?" she snapped, more forcefully than intended. She grumbled. "Say something next time, you creep."

He didn't answer for a minute, and it finally registered that something was…off, about him. His hair and eyes were wild, pupils too wide, focused. She shivered slightly under his gaze, and he noticed. She watched, fascinated, as he swallowed hard, his face slowly beginning to turn pink. He wouldn't break eye contact, and it was beginning to drive her crazy. He finally spoke, his voice husky, several tones below normal.

"You—you're a woman. A human, mortal woman—"

"Oh, just figured that out, have we—"

"And you…" he breathed in, out. "You, Emilia the Hero, are bleeding…"

She stiffened, mentally checking herself. She had not been in battle recently. All of her wounds were currently healed, and she was relatively clean. What was he talking—no. No. He—he couldn't possibly, could not actually be asking if she were—

He tilted his head, looking around her small flat, back to her, incredulous. Certain.

"You're in heat."

It was not a question, and that fact made her squeak in humiliated terror. She felt herself turn scarlet instantly, steam pouring from her ears. Immediately, Better Half appeared in her hand, and Emi, not caring about the energy loss, threw it wildly, all thoughts of proper form leaving her panicked mind. He didn't even flinch, just stared at her with wide eyes as the blade buried itself in the wall an inch from his head. She stomped a foot, finger brandishing the air in his direction. Her voice sounded incredibly weak and horrified, even to her own ears.

"You—you heathen! You twisted, perverted devil! I'm—I am not some animal—"

He gaped, speechless for a moment. Then he was quiet, sounding as though his world had been rocked off its hinges— almost in awe, to her mortified confusion.

"You are. I didn't…I…" he looked down at his hands in wonder, eyes skirting to her laundry basket in the corner, darting to her body, before he raised his gaze again to her eyes—her glare told him she was currently imagining a very painful death for him—"…I could smell it. What…"

She shuddered, groaning, setting her back to the wall and sliding to the floor. Cursed his enhanced senses. Why, why hadn't she gone out and bought more tampons? She'd thought borrowing a few pads from Rika would be fine for the week, but two days in and even she had to admit she'd been slightly heavier than anticipated—she had bled through a few of her clothes, currently in the laundry, exposed to open air. And it's not like she'd expected the Demon King to follow her home! Why did he finally show an interest in where she lived now, of all times?!

She covered the back of her mouth with a hand, trying absentmindedly to rub away the redness in her cheeks. Desperate to regain composure, regain some shred of dignity.

"Why-why do you care? It's none of your business, Satan!"

Maou put a hand to his head, dizzily. His mouth opened, closed. Emi hugged herself on the floor, bringing a knee up to her chin, fingers clenching the fabric of her pants, and the Devil found his eyes wandering, straying agonizingly to her squeezed chest, her long, slender legs…and finally to the mystery between them. Her face at the top of his peripheral vision was red, puffy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if she was going to start crying. The thought, along with way she was sitting, suddenly made it very difficult for him to breathe. It…he was finding it erotic, he realized, electricity arcing in invisible sparks from him to the crimson-haired girl, as he surveyed her flushed face and trembling body, her accidental display of her privates, and everything around him, even her, the holy hero, positively reeking of blood—

He choked, unable to form words. Thank god she had looked away at some point, and hadn't noticed where his eyes had been, he'd be dead by now—

"Well?!" she demanded, her voice cracking, "What do you want, Maou? I'm gonna kill you—"

Want? What did he want? His eyes shot back up to sift across her neck, her lips, her hair, with lightning speed. This…was new. Foreign. He shivered. Human.

He…was a human man now.

And he wanted—

His eyelids slammed shut. The answer absolutely, irrefutably, terrified him. Forbidden, shut down. That's it, the end. He, a 300-year-old devil immortal, regardless of the body he inhabited, was not lusting after Emilia the Hero. Even if he was Satan, King of the Demons. Even if unholy desire was his element, his territory. No way. Not happening.

…But it wasn't just a want, his brain stuttered, insistently. It was a need, somehow both animalistic and human, a carnal urge, now that he knew—now that he could see her, that way—it had awakened something in him, something he had a very bad feeling would have been far better off staying hidden.

It was impossible to ignore.

It made him dangerous.

The Devil ground his teeth and fled without a word, turning his back on the shaking hero.

She froze as the door slammed, then struggled to her feet, grumbling in bewilderment. Her eyes finally found the shopping bag discarded by the front door, right where he had been, full of items she had dropped after falling down the "Devil's Castle" stairs earlier. She hissed, irritated and embarrassed.

"S-stupid Maou! I could have gotten those things myself! Don't just barge in here, like a jerk…"

She trailed off as Better Half shimmered across the room, vanishing from the wall to reappear and melt with celestial energy into her waiting hand. Groaned as she realized that frantic stab into the drywall would probably cost her a fortune. She took a finger and touched her reddened cheek with a huff, just breathing for a moment.

Somehow, she was finding it harder and harder to justify being mad at him.