— a weave of Scandinavian folklore

Solitary Duality

Paranormal love story set in Scandinavia

Cover for Solitary Duality, a Småty Saga
© 2015 Jenny Adams Perinovic



947 words


Summer Nights
Two lonely people looking for a fling, to keep warm for at least one night.
This was specifically written for the [Summer Nights Anthology](http://www.thegreatnovelingadventure.com/summer-nights-2/), put together by TGNA. The submissions all needed to be set during a single night, and I decided I wanted to explore a minor character. Since sharing who that is would be a spoiler, I won't, especially since I changed the point of view from him to a teenage trans boy, Yngve.

Point of View Characters

Other notable characters


My peers mingle on the docks and streets below my mountainous perch. Music from the clubs littered along them blend into a cacophony of mating calls. I observe their rituals; alone.

Steps drum an even beat against the red granite. “I’m Dag.” His scent of sweat and musk flows over me.

“Go away. I’m not a girl.” In the distance, a boat sails towards the open ocean.

“I hope not.” The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers along my skin. “Do I want to know why you needed to say that?” He flashes white canines. I fiddle with my phone. He’ll probably go away in a moment. “Why did you?”

“The last hot guy thought I was a girl.” The moment the words leave my mouth I wince. Hot guy? Smooth, Yngve, real smooth.

“I don’t.” At the vividness of his blue eyes as he leers at me, I stare down at the phone again. “I’ll go if you want me to, though I prefer to stay.”

Come on, come on, say something witty. “Sure, if you want to.” Too late. I slip the phone away, my dignity dropping off the side of the cliff. “I’m Yngve.”

He’s tanned, though not as dark as my sepia shade, with a ponytail the shade of rye to match his trimmed beard. He towers over me, with broad shoulders and slim hips.

“Nice to meet you.” His right arm hangs, unusable, at his side. “Why aren’t you partying?”

I shrug. “I needed to get away. Some fresh air.” I run my fingers over my black mohawk. With his tight chinos and dress shirt I wish I looked fancier. Instead, I have torn jeans, a leather vest that obscures my forms, and enough studs and chains that Magneto would have an easy match with me.

“Something to do with hot guys thinking you’re a girl?” He flashes his canines at me again, offering me a hand up. “Let’s go down. We can dance.”

“Sure.” I wet my lips, butterflies somersaulting in my stomach. My legs tremble, and his fingers burn against my hand.

I was right. I reach his shoulders, only matching him in height if I count my mohawk. He slips his arm around me. My body goes stiff; what if he feels it? I pull away to lead us down the path.

Hot, gay—or at least bi—, and into me. What’s the catch?