Chapter 44: Never Had to Run in Louboutins
ANNABETH SAINT
I heard the crack first. I looked up at the ceiling and saw one of the huge chandeliers break free and shoot downward. I saw Fiona, screaming as her arms windmilled. Someone ... someone had shoved her forward. The chandelier--
I felt someone yank me backwards and spin me around, cradling my head so that my face rested against his dinner jacket.
I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs. His arm locked around my waist, pulling me tighter against him. His breath was warm against my ear.
"You’re safe," he whispered. Then he scooped me into his arms and walked away. I huddled against him, trembling as the image of Fiona helplessly being tossed under the falling chandelier.
Chaos erupted inside the ballroom—shouts, panicked footsteps, the wail of security alarms. He didn’t let go of me. Instead, his grip tightened, and before I could protest, he entered a concealed door hidden behind a velvet curtain.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in near-total darkness.
He put me down, and I immediately stumbled, my ridiculous dress catching on something. His hand steadied me, fingers pressing into the bare skin of my waist where the feathers had torn away.
"Careful, chicken."
"I hate this dress," I muttered.
"I know." His voice was closer now, a low hum in the dark. "You could always take it off."