[He scoffs. Of course he's denied the wry satisfaction of an actual admission, of having some vague sense of what it'd have felt like to be the favoured one, competed for. Water sloshes around as he shifts a little, restless to pull his arm free.]

My devils alone are my children.

['Child' feels like the wrong word for the product of a loveless union, a living thing carelessly brought into the world. There is no loyalty among succubi, as far as he's aware, and their business is to feed and to create when they can with as many men they can sleep with, not to rear those cambions. The indifference is mutual.]

And should it ever come to pass that I find a creature claiming to carry my blood, be this real or imagined, I will destroy it myself as I would any other.

[There's no room for negotiation in his voice, his mind already made. All things considered, it may very well be an unintentional act of mercy.]