Chapter summary: We belong together. I feel it with every fiber of my being.

Acknowledgments: Everybody knows the drill by now, right? I may be the lead singer of this story, but BelleBiter is behind the scenes fine tuning the melody.

A/N: Thank you times 23 to Sunflower Frannie Walsh for featuring DtE in her Facebook group called Pay it Forward.

High up in the heavens, behind an accumulation of billowing white clouds, there is a majestic palace of sparkling silver and marble. A lush carpet of thick, emerald grass enfolds its side parameters, while a still, lapis-blue sea gently abuts the pristine front – just daring to barely touch the bottom-most steps that lead up to the dais where the Ruler of All the Gods sits upon his throne.

Long, well-formed fingers are tapping against the shimmering quartz armrest at his side.

His expression is beautifully fearsome with a proud, furrowed brow, thick eyebrows slanted low over a piercing, steely gaze, and a well-defined jaw clenched tight. It is the sight of a normally calm-looking expression turned dangerous, which would cause even the bravest of men's hearts to jump in their chests.

Because Zeus is furious.

No one has ever recovered eradicated memories.

He does not understand how this mere mortal has persevered and done so, when she has never managed it even once before. Not even Terpsichore has recalled his memories.

And he is more than a little concerned as he sees his youngest muse flee his chosen hovel on Earth for her – back to the one whom he has found and fallen in love with, over and over.

It's really quite puzzling, how and why they keep meeting.

This cannot end well.

. . .

Like I did while growing up in this house, I lie in my teenaged bed and stare up at the patterns the trees and beams of moonlight create on the ceiling. Only this time, I think I catch glimpses of the shadow I used to cast as a girl, lost in the little spaces between the flickering leaves and a forked tree branch. In the sudden gust of wind that shakes my window and the tree limbs alike, I see her shape jump and tremble.

It's late. Or early, depending on your mindset, I guess.

The rest of dinner at Billy and Jake's had been difficult after my shocking revelation of who E really is – swallowing what had turned to cardboard in my mouth, trying to act normal, remembering to smile at the right times. My thoughts were overwhelming, and all I really wanted to do was to escape.

And now my muddled mind is restlessly questioning everything that I've unexpectedly remembered.

Why had I forgotten in the first place? It's not every day that someone tells you he is a Muse. That's not something I would ever forget. And considering that E has these powers, he's probably the one behind my lost memories.

But why?

Which brings me to the next thing: E is a Muse; the immortal kind who has lived for centuries. He's probably smelled the ink used to sign the Declaration of Independence, made mortar with mud and straw and stones beside Gilgamesh, danced to Hey nonny with the other deceivers in Midsummer's, run down a field holding the fabric of an airplane wing steady just before one or the other of the Wright brothers finally lifted off, argued the nature of love's purpose with Socrates, and even knows exactly what the surface of the moon looks like.

All those years. And now he's here with me. Again.

But he knew – he knew all along that I had forgotten what he'd revealed about himself. That I'd forgotten how close we had grown. The day he found me in the parking lot at the beach? That's when I knew I hadn't imagined the heartbroken look in his eyes.

We have met, loved and lost each other time and time again because of rules that I just don't understand. In all this time, especially when I was a child enamored by fairy tales like Cinderella and The Little Mermaid, I always thought love conquered all – that if you found a special someone to love and they loved you back, that that was the missing puzzle piece which solved your life's mystery.

I might have grown cynical about that idea as I matured, but I couldn't have anticipated anyone like E; he's not just anyone. Isn't he my life's mystery? After all, we keep finding each other. Surely, there has to be a reason. Maybe it's because we didn't make it the first time, or the second time, or the next time after that?

And… and he took my memories away, even though I… even though we…

What if we don't make it this time, either?

I can't possibly sleep. And there's only one certain someone who could ever help me understand.

"E?" I say into the silence.

My eyes search the dark corners of the room, then dart to the window. If he'd disappeared in the blink of an eye, surely he could appear in one?

I sit up in my bed, dragging the pillow into my arms to hold.

"If you truly are my Muse, you'll come to me," I whisper fervently. "Please."

And I wait with my heart in my throat… hoping, praying, and wishing.

When nothing happens, I bury my face in the pillow I'm holding and sob. I feel like I've lost my mind, just when I want to believe I've had a break-through… that E will come back to me now that I know who he really is, now that I know everything… but when he doesn't come… and he still doesn't come… I feel further away from the answers than ever before.

None of this makes sense any more.

I'm not sure if it ever did.

It must have just been my imagination. Or some kind of humiliating, wishful thinking on my part, wanting to turn an impossible situation into something real because—

There's pressure against the back of my head; a sudden warmth.

Gasping, I jerk my head up, and there he is.

Kneeling in front of me, one hand still raised in the air after he lets it slide from my head.

"You're here," I say dumbly on an exhale.

"Always," he answers softly.

I can't breathe at first.

Maybe I'm dreaming?

Oh, I hope not, I hope not…

I've forgotten the impossible beauty of his face, what it makes me feel, how it stuns me. My eyes dart from his gentle gaze to the wide, well-shaped curve of his mouth, to the cleft in his chin. That soft, intense, adoring almost, stare of his makes that my heart turn over in my chest.

But if he adores me, why did he wait so long to appear when I was calling for him?

"Why didn't you come when I first called you?"

"I wasn't sure if you really meant to summon me."

I shake my head, and scoot a little closer to him because the distance between us hurts. "I meant to call you. I meant to."

He exhales visibly, then hesitantly moves to cup my cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears he finds there. My whole body responds to the contact; everything inside me just collapses, and then I throw myself into his arms. He's warm, solid, real. And he's holding me as tightly as I am him.

"I missed you," I say, and it's an echo from the depths of my soul.

His lips are pressed against my forehead, and his breath is as unsteady as mine. One of his hands returns to the back of my head, and he cradles me against his chest as if I'm precious. Then he draws his fingers soothingly through my hair, again and again.

"I missed you, too," he whispers against my ear. "I thought I'd lost you."

But he'd never lost me; I'd always lost him to his jealous god.

And I try to tell him that, but then his mouth is against mine, slow and tentative at first, then quickly escalating to deep, hungry and desperate. He grasps the back of my neck almost too hard, and he's thorough – he kisses me like no one else has before, as if he's trying to memorize the way we touch. All the anguish is there in his kiss, all the longing and want in mine.

"If I have a soul at all," he breathes, "It is because of you."

I can barely think with the silk of his lips dragging against mine. Or even remember my own name as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I am filled with awe and disbelief that this is happening. I've feared and wanted this for so long that it almost seems like another dream now.

But the thought of a dream brings a different kind of fear and unease.

He doesn't know that I know of our past lives.

He doesn't know that I have been wondering how he could just leave me, leave me broken and longing for him.

He doesn't know that I'm scared he'll just do the same thing again.

"E," I say, and wrench my mouth away. "I can't. I can't, not if you're not… not honest with me."

He presses his lips against my temple, against my cheek. "You know everything about me," he says raggedly, his thumb dragging against my lower lip.

I want him so badly. This feels so right, so true, and every nerve cell in my body is clamoring to be bare against him. For him to claim my body the way I know he has before. The way I long for him to do so now.

But I don't know everything about him. I don't how he could leave me once, let alone how many other times. I don't even know why he took my memories away to begin with.

And is he going to take them away again?

"Please," I say, and a strangled sound escapes from the back of my throat. "We can't. Not yet."

But my fingers are twisting, twisting in his shirt, wanting to yank him against me and never let go.

He exhales against my temple and goes still, his taut body slowly relaxing. When he moves back, his eyes are open, gentle, and reverent as they gaze into mine. That look goes a long way towards calming my suddenly panicky heart.

Standing, he pulls me up with him, and I'm reminded of how tall he is, and that I'm barefoot and in my pajamas. He shoots a lingering look down at my exposed legs, then picks me up in his arms and sits on the side of the bed, situating me sideways on his lap.

I burrow my head into the hollow space beneath his jaw as his head leans to rest against mine. His arms tighten around me, his fingers curving around my shoulder and hip, pulling me close. My free hand slowly climbs his chest, my palm an open caress against his pectoral muscle, then his wide shoulder, sliding over to his neck. My fingers play with the silky tendrils of hair at his nape, and he sighs into me.

We sit like this for long minutes, just basking in each other's presence, inhaling each other's scent. It's like coming home, only it's unlike a place I've ever been.

At least in this lifetime, since I know I've been here – with him – like this before. Somewhere, some time.

We belong together. I feel it with every fiber of my being. The way he holds me – so close, so lingering, with the deep, slow breaths he's taking – tells me that he might feel the same.

His hand raises to the one I have curled around his neck, fingers lacing with mine. He brings my palm to his face, to his cheek, then to his lips, where he presses a kiss there.

"I love you," he says.

I gasp and raise my head, because it's too soon now, isn't it? Yet it isn't for yesterday, or maybe even today. Now. I somehow sense the timeless truth in his words – it's in the way he looks at me, like I'm all that matters, and how he touches me, as if I'm something precious.

I love you, too.

It's on the tip of my tongue. And it may be too soon, but the soothing warmth, the truth of it, is flooding my body anyway.

Which makes it all the more pressing for me to know why he would ever try to destroy what we have.

"Then why… why did you take away my memories?"

His thick, dark eyebrows furrow. "How is it that you remember?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I just do."

My eyes are tearing up, so I have to look away. To take a breath before I can ask the question that I need to. I want to be furious with him, but there's no room for it with this aching sorrow.

"Why, E? Why would you do such a thing?"

Before my eyes, his seem to darken with age. "To protect you. I should never have revealed myself to you in the first place."

He has such a look of devastation on his face that I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can talk again. "But why? Why wouldn't you be able to share that with me?"

"It is not allowed," he says.

Those horrible words ring through my ears twice: as he said it in the past, and as he says it now.

"No," I say on a sob, and my head is slowly shaking back and forth. My eyes are stinging. "No. Not again."

"Bella," he says.

"You can't leave me again," I choke on the words. "I won't survive it this time, I know it."

His words are smooth, but decidedly confused. "This time?"

I try to push out of his arms, and it's a struggle because he doesn't want to let me go. But when he sees I'm determined, he lets me slide free, and now I'm the one who's on my knees in front of him.

"Please don't leave me this time, E. Fight him. Fight your father. Oh, God, this cannot be our fate again."

His warm fingers encircle my wrists. "What do you mean?"

What do I mean? Doesn't he… doesn't he remember?

"You… you…"

"Tell me," he says fervently, and his eyes flash violet as he tries to work his magic on me.

But I already want to give him whatever he wants.

My chin is suddenly quivering with the sobs I'm trying to hold back at the realization that he doesn't remember anything. My heart feels like it's breaking all over again.

"My dad," I gasp, afraid he's going to hear us.

"He won't wake," E says. "I've put him into a deep sleep."

"You what?"

His eyes flash again. "It is harmless, Bella. He'll wake better rested than he has in a long time, I promise." He exhales almost harshly, and his grip around my wrists tightens. "Now, please. Tell me what you meant?"

"I don't know how to say this," I begin shakily. "And I don't how or why, but I know I've met you before. Not in this life. And not just once. My body, my heart, my soul… knows you."

Wide, horrified eyes meet mine. He lets go of my wrists to grab my upper arms.

"I have memories of you and me – the two of us – doing things that we've never done in this life," I whisper. And I tell him about my memories. I tell him all of it.

His eyes squeeze closed as he makes a sound of distress in his throat, and then he says a string of words in a language I don't know, his voice low and shaking with pain. Seeing him hurt steals the last of my resolve to be brave; I can deal with my own, but feeling his pain is like a knife has just been driven into my heart.

And then we're in each other's arms again, holding on tight to the dear time we have left.

. . .

He stays with me all night, his arms around me, and his body warm against mine. I rest my head on his chest and marvel at his heartbeat; he is here with me. My Muse is real.

In between kisses and slow caresses, he shares everything: his life, his siblings, and his father, whom he refers to as Zeus. Which shatters everything I've ever believed again, because I always thought the legends about the gods were just that. And now I'm discovering how a certain two of them have played havoc with my life.

With my lives.

E also tells me that his own powers are restricted mostly to Earth, because he is only considered a minor god in the scheme of things; and that up until a month ago, he was relatively content with his place in the universe.

But then he confesses that I changed all of that. I changed him, just as he has changed me.

Again, I guess.

He blames his memory loss of our past lives on something he calls the River of Lost Dreams.

"It is the only possible explanation for why I never came back to you," he says. "If Zeus had not commanded me to drink from the Lethe, nothing in the heavens or on earth would have kept me from you, Bella."

Turning on his side, he takes my face firmly in his hand. His gaze is pure violet, and sears me inside from toe to eyebrow.

"I am sorry for all the times I have hurt you. So very sorry. You are, and have always been, my dream. My love."

And he presses the gentlest of kisses against my lips. A warm burst of effervescence fills my chest, and I pull back in surprise.

"Did you do that?"

"That is love's true kiss," he tells me, in a tone of voice that reverberates throughout my ears and mind and senses, making my heart squeeze at the power I'm hearing. And feeling. And remembering.

My hand comes up to grab his wrist. "Is he…" And I swallow. "Is he going to make you forget about me again?"

E leans forward until our faces are pressed together.

"He will try," he murmurs against my lips. "But I will not let him win, not this time."

My breath is shaky at the thought of losing him again. "But what if you've said this to me before?"

Now his breath is shaky.

He can't answer me.

He doesn't know.

So he kisses me instead, and my chest and heart are alive with that feeling he's giving me, leaving room for nothing else. It sends a spark of warmth shooting through my entire body, awakening every nerve ending along the way, making me gasp and moan with its intensity.

"You are mine," he grits, pushing me onto my back, pushing his chest against mine. "Then and now. Especially now."

Forever now, his voice says in my mind.

I gape up at him. Did he just—

Yes, Bella. Forever.

His fingers come to rest on my chin, lifting it for his kiss. A maelstrom of feeling, desire and need rises like a stormfire inside, terrifying me with its power.

"I am here," he murmurs at the same time that I hear the words in my mind.

He's everywhere.

Fingers tracing my collarbone, skimming along the sensitive skin there… and then down to the inside of my arm, thumbs dragging along the outer side of my breasts. I arch my back, aching for his touch directly. He moves his hands under the hem of the t-shirt I'm wearing, fingers sweeping along my lower belly, teasingly drawing their tips under the band of my panties. Then lower, lower.

You ARE mine.

"You're mine," I growl back.

I'm not giving you back this time, I think.

And his words: I am not leaving you this time.

Our thoughts, formed and unformed, mingle like our limbs. I hear his siren's call in my mind and in my ears. I feel it in my bones. We are one. We are meant to be.

Once my shirt is tugged up and off, his eyes drop, lashes fanning against his impossible cheekbones, which are flushed with desire. I let him look, craving his stare, needing it.

The word beautiful reverberates throughout my mind and my body.

And then it's my turn. My turn to urge his shirt off. I help him unbutton it, my fingers clumsy yet determined. As each inch of skin is revealed, I grow more and more feverish.

He shrugs the shirt off almost violently, and then his chest is against mine, sliding and raising, moving down as I'm arching. I'm sobbing, grasping and greedy as my hands smooth along his skin, and I'm totally out of control. Not like myself at all.

I've needed this. Oh, how I've needed this.

I should be embarrassed; I've never acted this way before. Never felt this strongly before. Never felt anything like this before.

Or have I? What is this? All of me, past and present, grasping on to what we've so missed?

It's burning me up inside, setting fire to the last remnants of my common sense. To everything.

It's freeing me, in a sense.

And I could die.

I would die happy.

You won't die. I will not allow it.

He straddles my legs, grabs my hips. Pulls me up. My pelvis brushes against his erection. Once, twice.

"I want you," he groans.

"Take me," I breathe.

Why can't you just take me?

His breath comes out on a sob, then he falls over me, holding his weight up off of me by his forearms and his knees.

"Once we have come together? That is when he will command me back."

And then I'm filled with anguish.

We can't make love?

"Oh, but we are making love," he gasps.

I'm surging against him, wanting to press my ache against his. To grind, to chase that elusive feeling until I capture it, until I break with him.

He lets me shift a leg between his, but won't let me open up for him entirely.

"I'm not ready yet," he says in his double-timbered god-like voice, but his body's motions betray him. His hands are cupped around my bottom, holding me tight to him as we arch against each other.

Not ready for me?

"Once I spill inside you," he says jerkily against my neck, "it marks the end."

His tongue pushes into my mouth again, plunging in hard, deep, as he would if we were going to make love. I'm splayed open, vulnerable, wanting and needing to be filled. He is hard against my leg, maybe bruising me, but it can't be any harder than I'm pressing myself against his own thigh.

"Please," I breathe, and I don't even recognize my voice.

He moves his hand from its harsh clasp at my bottom to the front of my underwear. But instead of delving underneath like I expect him to, his fingers glide along the fabric, over my pelvic bone, slowly moving down and over to the skin there. My breath shudders and my body jerks.

The leg not trapped by his, I move out away from my body further… until his hip bone sinks into me, and is lodged firmly just where I want it.

"Futuo," he grits, pressing himself against the inside of my leg, and the iron sensation of it – how hard he is, the evidence of how much he wants me – just makes me more wild.

He wants me. He wants me.

"Of course I want you," he growls, and the fingers he had splayed teasingly at the juncture of my inner thigh and pelvis suddenly sweep inside to caress where I am hot, throbbing and wet for him.

He cries out with me, our bodies sliding clumsily together, bumping and surging and arching away, only to crash again. He falls further into me, his cock and his fingers only inches apart now.

"Oh, yes," he says with a hitch in his breath, as he presses a finger, then two, inside of me.

His touch makes me shiver from the inside out. I crave his fullness, the completeness I know he can give me, but in the far reaches of my mind, I understand why he won't join with me. It hurts, but I understand.

The wet sound of his fingers sliding against me… my ragged breathing, his ragged breathing… is all I hear.

"Come for me," he commands.

At the sound of his rough, honey voice, my body snaps against his once, twice, and I'm clenching around his fingers. Waves of sensation begin deep and low, then widen from there, growing stronger, getting longer, until I'm screaming with the shattering power of it, until I don't know where I begin or he ends.

He's kissing along my jawline when I become aware of my surroundings again. The birds are beginning to sing, and the darkness in my room has lightened to gray.

I glance from the window and back to his face several times. It was just after midnight when I turned out the light. And now it's – I turn to press the button on my phone – 7:32 a.m.

"How?" I ask him.

His face is drawn, almost haggard, but he is still unbelievably, ethereally beautiful.

He is, after all, a god.

"I made it last all night," he says with a wicked smile.

"But… but…" I say.

But you are still rock hard against my thigh.

His eyes close. He nods his head in a pained way, and slides sinuously off me to my side.

"I need to have a plan in place first," he tells me.

My head sinks against his chest. I feel his nose part the hair at my temple, feel his lips soothe the pounding pulse there.

"A plan to make love to me?" I ask.

Because if you come inside of me, Zeus will call it quits?

"I will not lose you now, not right after I've just found you again," he says.

"But—"

"It will go away," he says of his erection. "Sleep."

I shake my head at him.

No. No, I will not go to slee—

. . .

He pulls her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly, so tightly, around her.

Wills the physical ache away.

Tries to reconcile the new, commanding voice inside his head, the one that insists it is time for Bella to take her place beside him.