A thick, pensive "Hm..." smooths itself on the creature's tongue as a passive, vague response to the new information solidifying itself on his hand; that surely re-contextualized a lot of what he'd wrongly assumed to be just echoes of pent-up aggression and dread from the vessel; he's sure those elements were still burning just as fervently, but layered under much less... manageable cluster of emotions.
Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by these masochistic tendencies, they surely weren't uncommon within his society, but... most would rather deal the blow than to receive it. Of all bodies, why did he ought to get stuck on this one?
He supposed it couldn't be helped now, no sense in dwelling.
"Hunting, and touching yourself..." it repeats, as if exhuming the words, carefully extracting the meaning in each syllable. "I see... that is your... personal preference, then?" the term feels foreign on its tongue; but the meaning is not completely lost on the god. He himself had his own preferences when it came to sacrifices.
A chore doesn't sound too pleasant; the joy of devouring a ripe, mortal soul was hardly comparable to the chore of answering a prayer, for example. In that way, perhaps he could understand. Although now he quite longs for those easier times where his feet did not touch the soil, and his wings could carry him through the heavens. He feels so... small, looking at himself now—bleeding from the pressure of a single nail against his once impenetrable flesh. Pathetic. Small. Pitiful creature... it flinches involuntarily at the sight of those fangs, the hand inevitably tightening its grip as if anticipating a bite—such a disagreeable vessel, this one.
He will not address the rebellion of this insignificant body; it is far beneath him to do so.
"Nonsense... you said there is purebloods are not lacking. Surely another one can take up your mantle," it was phrased as a proposition, but as his grip loosens, and he allows his hand to slid down their throat instead, it becomes evident this was a demand. "You are my personal guard. The same shall remain true when I ascend. I will not have you answering to another, or exhausting yourself with dull tasks a far lesser one could perform with excellence... you are not to do anything you find unpleasant unless that order comes directly from me, do you understand?"
With that, the god brushes its thumb across the vrael's bottom lip, wiping the moisture that had gathered and contemplating with a hum before dropping its hand entirely. "Enough dawdling now, we have wasted enough time," he steps back, rolling his shoulders languidly to relax as he walks into the water. "Come and join me, we will back on the road sooner that way."