A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Sorry, I’ve started this off all wrong, haven’t I?” He apologized with a disarming smile as he set his fork down on the counter and offered a simple bow. “My name is Leviticus, but you can call me Levi. I was generously hired to rescue you, Miss Madeline McCaffrey, from those fae.”

“Fae?” She asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He couldn’t be serious. “As in fairies?”

“Exactly that,” he replied, measuring her reaction. “Surely you noticed they couldn’t have possibly been normal people?”

Through the strands of her unkempt, reddish-auburn hair, she could see he was not one of whatever they were. He had a completely different air about him. He moved with silent, determined, and sinuous steps - literally strutting into the warehouse. His jet-black hair brushed slightly past his shoulders, but in contrast to the stringy and oily hair of her captors, his was healthy and immaculate. Dressed in a black, sleeveless kevlar vest that zipped all the way up to his neck, and a matching pair of close-fitting tactical pants, Madeline wasn't quite sure what he was. He didn't seem to be a police officer, and at first, Madeline thought he might be allied with her kidnappers, but they didn't approach him as a comrade, or someone to be pushed around.

They all reacted as if a tiger had just padded into the warehouse. 

With acute interest, Madeline sat up and watched as the man sauntered confidently up to the closest of her kidnappers, one who was already summoning inky black wisps in his hands, and launched a quick right hook which snapped the captor's head sharply to the side.

Then all hell broke loose.

Cameron focused his senses, weeding out the noise from the tv and the local traffic, and heard the click of a lock. It was her sliding glass door. He knew it had been locked, as his sensitive ears always made out the click of the bolt when she came in from her back patio. Needing to know what he was dealing with, he inhaled the crisp night air in a few hurried shallow breaths. They weren’t shapeshifters. If they were, their scent would have been more apparent, and he would have been able to determine what type of shifter they were based off that. Also absent was the stench of the undead, which was a foul, sour smell of rot and decay. Unexpectedly, Cameron detected a somewhat mossy scent, similar to patchouli, which led him to the following conclusion.

“Fae,” he said. “They’re breaking in using magic.”