The Hallowed Hunt (Curse of Chalion) by Lois McMaster Bujold

felt the pain of his own bites. He gripped, ripped. Pulled the things out of his body by their gory roots. Then it was no longer inside him, but in front of him, wriggling like some malevolent sea creature brought to the lethal air. He kicked at it with naked, clawed feet. The leopardess pounced, batted, rolled the shrieking red thing across the floor. It was, briefly, alive. Dying.
    Then it was gone.
    The second vision vanished, or rejoined the first, melting one into another, the leopardess into Ijada, his wolf-jaw—where?
    His body sagged. He was lying on his back near the door, ankles still bound, bloody hands free. Bernan was standing over him, his face pale as parchment, a short iron crowbar gripped in his shaking hands.
    A little silence fell.
    “ Well, ” said Hallana’s bright, strained voice. “Let us not do that again…”
    A rumble of footsteps sounded from the corridor outside the chamber. An urgent thumping on the door: Ingrey’s soldier called in alarm, “Hello? Is everyone all right in there? Lord Ingrey?”
    The warden’s frightened voice: “Was that really him , screaming like that? Oh, hurry, break it down!”
    A third man: “If you break my door, you’ll pay for it! Hey in there! Open up!”
    Ingrey stretched his jaw, his normal human jaw, not a muzzle, and croaked, “I’m all right!”
    Hallana was standing with feet braced, breathing rapidly, staring at him with very wide eyes. “Yes,” she called out. “Lord Ingrey…tripped and upset the table. It’s a bit of a mess in here just now. We’ll see to it. Don’t concern yourselves.”
    “You don’t sound all right.”
    Ingrey swallowed, cleared his raw throat, adjusted his voice. “I’ll come down to the taproom in a while. The divine’s servants will deal with the…with the…mess. Go away.”
    “We will take care of his injuries,” added Hallana.
    A baffled silence, a mumble of argument: then the footsteps retreated.
    A sigh seemed to go through everyone in the room but Bernan, who still brandished his crowbar. Ingrey lay back limply on the floorboards, feeling as though his bones were turned to porridge. He was sick to his stomach. After a moment, he raised his hands. The chains dangled heavily from his left wrist; his right, lubricated with blood, was free. He stared at it, barely comprehending the torn skin and throbbing pain. By the unpleasant trickle in his hair, his furious thumping around had ripped apart some of his new stitches, as well.
    At this rate, I’m going to be dead before I ever get to Easthome, whether Lady Ijada survives me or not.
    Ijada…He twisted around in feverish concern. Bernan made a warning noise and raised his crowbar higher. Ijada was still on her knees a pace or two away, her face very pale, her eyes huge and dark.
    “No, Bernan!” she said. “He’s all right now. It’s gone.”
    “I have seen a man afflicted with the falling sickness,” said Hallana in a distant tone. “This most assuredly wasn’t that .” She ventured near Ingrey again and walked around him, peering down searchingly over her belly.
    With an eye to the crowbar, Ingrey rolled very slowly and cautiously onto his side for a better look at Ijada. The movement made the room turn in slow jerks, and his grunt came out sounding more like a moan, or perhaps a whimper. Ijada wasn’t leaping to her feet, either. She sat limply, her hands on the floor propping her; she caught his gaze, took a breath, and pushed upright. “I’m all right,” she said, although no one had inquired. All eyes had been on Ingrey’s far more spectacular performance.
    Hallana’s head came round. “What did you just experience?”
    “I fell to my knees—I was still on my knees, in this room, but at the same time, I was suddenly in the leopard’s body. The leopard’s spirit body—I did not mistake it for flesh. But oh, it was strong! Glorious. My senses were terribly acute. I could see! But I was mute—no, beyond mute. Wordless. We were in