Hey, readers! Glad to have you here. You may or may not have read my previous story, Savage Love; this is the rewrite of SL. I'm not updating SL anymore and focusing fully on this story. For those who are completely new to this story: cool, welcome! I hope you like it. Lots of mythology in the 21st century is coming your way. There'll be drama, humor, action, secrets and scheming. And romance, obviously. Plenty of romance.
The M rating is because of a few lightly erotic scenes, none of it overly smutty, and some violence, some parts more explicit than other (never truly gory).

Updates will be irregular, but fairly often.

Please review — I can't wait to read what you think!

Had I known how different my life would be after this one night, I might not have gone to the concert at all.

Had I known who was watching me from the other side of the club, my existence just as baffling to him as his was to me, I might have avoided him and stayed right where I was.

I might have let skepticism and fear of the unknown steer me.

I wouldn't have known what I'd have missed out on.

Not that any of that mattered. It had all been decided for me, for us, long before I ever even existed.

one

"I want to toss my panties at him. Oh, I'm such a cliché, but he's so hot! I'm Penny Lane, I'm Plaster Caster!" Gabrielle jumped up and down, beckoning me to look closer at Louis XIV's lead singer, as if I wasn't already as mesmerized by his handsomeness and allure as the rest of the people in this club.

I laughed. All around us tonight I'd heard girls yelling and calling out for attention and, I hadn't failed to notice, multiple girls had actually thrown their panties or bra. I couldn't deny it: Luca Chevalier was probably the hottest guy in existence. He was better live than in recordings in every single way — musically, lyrically, physically.

Gabrielle let out a deep sigh. "He's my future husband. I wish they weren't almost done… let's try to sneak backstage!" She pulled on my arm while smiling wickedly at me. "Aw, please?"

Just as I started to tell Gabrielle we'd have to get her some water, the first notes of Wreath — Louis XIV's biggest hit — sounded and the crowd whooped. I swung my arm around Gabrielle's shoulder and squeezed her close for a moment. We'd been looking forward to this night for so long that I still couldn't totally believe we were finally here.

"I love this song!" Gabrielle shouted after the second verse. I returned her wide smile, then looked back at the band and continued singing along. The atmosphere was fantastic — I didn't think I'd ever been to a concert where the crowd was so in sync, where the music was so good, where the audience was so entirely captivated by the performance.

And if I hadn't been as enraptured as everyone else, singing along, dancing, I probably wouldn't have missed how Gabrielle was looking at me weirdly throughout the rest of the song, only averting her gaze by the time the last few chords sounded. But I didn't notice any of that, and we joked and laughed normally during the break and then cheered and clapped loudly with the crowd.

"That. Was. Amazing." I plopped down on the faded velvet barstool once we'd made our way to the bar, and rested my head on my hand.

The bartender set two glasses of water in front of us and we thirstily gulped it down. We'd been singing, no, shouting along the whole night without drinking anything other than cheap wine. I'd probably be feeling that tomorrow and would barely be able to speak. Good thing Gabrielle and I had only planned to watch Netflix all day in our pajamas.

"Oh, Emma." Gabrielle put her head on my shoulder. "What do you think Luca is doing right now?" she asked dreamily.

I sniggered while waving the bartender over. "Do you really have to ask what a rock star does in his dressing room after a show? Two Woo Woos, please."

"Aw, but he doesn't seem like that type of rock star! I'm sure he's just sitting there, eating only brown M&Ms or whatever his ridiculous dressing room demands are, and… Oh, thank you."

The bartender shook his head, smiling, when I reached for my purse. "They're already paid for. Thank Mr. Muscle over there."

I followed his nod down the length of the bar and felt heat rising to my cheeks more rapidly than ever before. There was only one person that the bartender could be referring to with that stupid nickname.

He was massive.

I'd seen big, muscular men before, of course: the pumped-up bodybuilders who frequented my cheap gym, or the movie actors whose shirtless scenes I rewound just a few extra times when I was watching by myself. But this guy was... different. Even sitting down I could see that he was immensely tall, and his shoulders were so broad and his biceps so rock-hard that his light blue T-shirt strained at the seams — but somehow, all of that looked natural, as if he didn't spend all his waking time pumping iron.

And if his size wasn't astonishing enough, there was also his face, his frankly beautiful face. Those sharp cheekbones and that angular jaw that held a just-right five o'clock shadow. The waves of his deep chocolate brown hair, ruffled as though he'd just run his hand through them. The dark, straight eyebrows set over eyes that I couldn't quite make out in the ambient lighting but that I could tell were unwaveringly fixed on me.

He looked arrogant and completely disconnected from everyone around him, but there was just no way he wasn't aware of the crowd of women who were falling all over him, or of the men who'd occasionally shoot him a sour glance for ruining their chances of picking up a girl tonight. He had to know how incredibly, fiercely attractive he was.

And he'd bought me a drink?

"Woah, Em," Gabrielle stage-whispered into my ear, "Tall dark stranger alert."

He didn't look away, he didn't even blink, and I started to get uncomfortable — but just when I started to frown and bit my lip, he smiled and raised his glass at me, bringing a strange sense of accessibility to that commanding face. I mirrored the gesture with my own glass — I had no idea what else to do. He threw his head back for a big gulp of whisky and got up.

"Just so you know," I heard the bartender say softly, "he'd been looking at you since the moment you sat down. Looked like he was struck by lightning, really. But don't tell him I told you that." He chuckled, then went to serve another customer.

I grabbed Gabrielle's arm; she let out a soft yelp. "Shit, he's coming over," I hissed. "Don't go, just wait one second, Gab."

"Mhm," Gabrielle hummed in agreement — the man was already next to us. He was even taller than I'd anticipated: I actually had to strain my neck to get a good look at his face. Gabrielle placed her elbow on the bar and sucked on the straw in her drink. "Hiiii!" she said. I mentally groaned at how tipsy she sounded — but I was glad that she was taking the lead.

"Hi," he said. His voice was deep, strong, intoxicating. "I'm Noah."

"I'm Gabrielle," she said, and waved sloppily in my direction, "and this is Emma."

I was about to steel myself — but realized suddenly that I wasn't feeling nearly as nervous as I had just seconds before, now that he was next to me. "Hi. It's nice to meet you, Noah." I shook his hand, trying hard not to have a limp grip, although his wasn't as strong as I'd expected. He sat down on the barstool next to mine that had just been vacated. "Thanks for these," I said, referring to our cocktails.

Gabrielle jumped up suddenly. "Gotta pee! Bye!" she exclaimed, but I knew exactly what trick she was pulling, of course: the one we always used when one of us was being wooed. Behind Noah (as hard as it was to look behind that enormous body), I saw her compliment some girl's shoes and keep their chat going while watching us almost the whole time. Gabrielle was so good at this, much better than I ever was.

My attention was jerked back to Noah when he smiled again, and I could hardly keep myself from swooning over it. God, this guy was gorgeous, and up close even more so. His long-lashed eyes were a warm, almost chestnut brown, his full lips framed perfectly straight white teeth, and I counted no less than three dimples: one in his chin, and two in his cheeks as he smiled. That stunning, brilliant smile… It didn't fit the rest of his intimidating body.

"You're welcome. Though these wouldn't have been my choice," he said. Oh, that voice. "But I'm happy to bankroll you."

I laughed, and I could've sworn I saw his eye twitch — but any discomfort left his face before I could be sure, and he chuckled. "What would you have bought me?" I asked. As imposing as he was, something about him made me feel confident and bold.

He cocked his head and looked me over, inspiring the butterflies in my stomach to flutter harder. "A Bee's Knees, maybe," he said then, "Or a Southside. No. A White Lady."

What? Maybe he was from abroad, even though he didn't speak with a foreign accent. I let out a chuckle — no, a giggle. Crap. Maybe I was a little nervous. "I don't know any of those."

He paused briefly to think, his glance steadfastly on me, then said, "A gimlet, then, or a Negroni."

Wasn't a gimlet an old ladies' drink? Either way, I'd heard of Negronis, and it seemed a compliment, even if they were a bit of an acquired taste. "Hmm, classy. I like your style," I said, one corner of my mouth turning upward. Behind Noah, Gabrielle raised her eyebrows and gave me a tentative thumbs-up; I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, our secret signal that everything was okay.

"Do you have a last name, Emma?" Noah asked suddenly. I looked back and found him staring at me intently, as if my answer to that question would make or break his night.

The other corner of my mouth went up as well in what I hoped was a flirtatious smile. "That depends on what you're going to do with that information." I took a sip from my cocktail. The vodka felt hot in my throat.

My words took a second to hit him — in that brief moment, the widening of his eyes and the raising of his eyebrows betrayed a thousand thoughts going through his mind. Had no one ever flirted with him before? That seemed unlikely. "It does seem proper to know a lady by her full name," he said then with a chuckle.

"A lady, hmm?" Weird and a little old-timey, but I quite liked it. "It's Sawyer."

"Emma Sawyer," he repeated solemnly, processing this, storing my name safely into his memory. So serious.

"Yep," I said, taking another sip. I straightened, leaning back against the bar a little. "What about you, though? Or are you just Noah?"

He let out a sigh and, nursing his drink, appeared to ponder something. I took the opportunity of his pause to study him a bit more. His olive skin, stretched taut over those overwhelming muscles, was entirely smooth, not a single blemish in sight. His hair looked soft as velvet. But his long fingers, judging from their white knuckles, gripped his glass more firmly than strictly necessary; his powerful shoulders, despite his ostensibly relaxed posture, looked a little tight.

"Chevalier," he answered eventually.

Wait, wasn't that… "That sounds fam— holy shit!" I set my glass on the bar so hard I almost broke it. That name was much too uncommon for tonight's lead singer and him to just coincidentally share it. "You're kidding!"

"Am I?" he said, the smile returning to his face. The air suddenly felt lighter.

"You're…" I tilted my head to get a good look at him. I didn't mind doing that — I realized that I was envied by a lot of girls around this bar just for talking to him. "No, you can't be related. You don't even really look alike."

"I know. Luca is my older half-brother." He was speaking just loud enough for me to hear now. Clearly, he didn't want people to know he was basically with the band.

"Why aren't you backstage?" I asked at a similar volume, grinning.

"I'm perfectly happy where I am right now," he said. He shrugged his shoulders, but I thought I caught a glimmer of amazement in his eyes. What was that about?

I felt my cheeks redden again and was about to hide my face behind my glass, when I saw Gabrielle frantically signaling at me with wide eyes and a panicked wave. "Oh, shit," I muttered to myself and jumped off the barstool. Time to save my best friend from an overeager flirt.

After a second or two, the crowd suddenly parted in front of me, and it wasn't until I looked back over my shoulder that I realized why. Noah had followed me. And good thing he had — the guy wasn't just flirting with Gabrielle, he was grabbing her butt and pulling her closer when she tried to get away. But he wasn't alone: his friends, more than I could count in that flash of a second, had jumped out of the crowd and I was sure I could somehow feel their hostility rising.

Noah marched forward and grasped the shoulder of Gabrielle's assailant, who swung around, ready to throw a punch, but when he saw Noah's size seemed to get even smaller than he already looked next to him. But even so, Noah was outnumbered… six to one, I counted now.

Noah turned towards us, still holding the guy's shoulder. "Ladies, time to go," he said brusquely, his voice and face suddenly void of all the friendliness of just moments earlier.

I looked at the belligerent men encircling him, then back into those warm eyes. Were we supposed to just leave him here? Would he be okay? He might be strong, but even he wouldn't hold out against six other men, would he? But he reassured me with a nod and my worries subsided. We turned around to leave the club, and it wasn't until we were safely in a taxi that I realized I never asked for Noah's number.

Note, July 24th, 2021: I've been editing/slightly rewriting the early chapters of this story. The new versions of chapters 1 through 4 have been posted; I plan to update at least chapters 5 through 11, possibly more. The edits won't have much impact on the story as a whole and will have more to do with deeper characterization, better language, and fixing some bits and scenes, so don't worry about missing vital story parts if you start reading now. I'll alternate updating early chapters with posting new ones so the story is definitely progressing while I do this. Enjoy!