He knew that she had every right to be terse, but Malcolm felt a bit slighted by that response (though he was trying his best not to let it show it). "I want you to not be suspicious and paranoid. I want to be able to go back to work tomorrow and have things be awkward as arse. I already have enough problems to deal with at our hellhole as it is, and the last thing I need is one more complication."
He rubbed his forehead. "But I also would like to understand this lycanthropy thing, as I now realize that I don't know the least bit about it, and I would like to understand how you turn into a snow leopard when, as far as I'm aware, there have never been any in England," he said flatly. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm the least bit confused by this all, but..." he merely stopped, unsure how to continue the sentence. She worked for a department that had originated in an effort to control her kind, and he found it odd that she didn't seem to see a problem. That was the question at the forefront of his mind, and he would not ask it. It was not his place, and he knew that.
"And frankly, I'd rather put all of this on the table at the moment rather than find myself under wildcat vigilance," he said dryly. It was a poor attempt at humor.