Stiles probably didn't realize how many people Alec had pissed off in his short hunting career. He'd stepped on a few toes. Shame he couldn't kiss it better for all of them. Or any of them. Whatever. "Well someone's pushy," Alec muttered as Stiles made himself comfortable, as if he wasn't here to ask Alec to do something stupid for the greater good of the pack. "I take it Derek was the one attacked then?" He doubted the alphas social visits were very social. That didn't seem their speed. All these tanks cared about was sending messages. Typical.
"So now what? Wait, don't tell me. You don't even got to think it. Let me tell you why you're here. They took on two of yours, one is probably what you'd consider to be your heaviest hitter. He got pretty banged up, but couldn't of been that noticeable because I didn't notice it. So you obviously want to get somethin' out of this, for morale, and the future survivial of your pack. But these alpha dogs are so serious about sending your alphas a message, you don't wanna make it easy for 'em by sending one of your own, somebody already on the chopping block. So you're going with your best back up option, which is me. I'm assuming it's because of the telepathy. Or your pack really sucks at managing their allies. It's probably both. You should've brought me cookies."
Alec hadn't survived so long on his telepathy alone. The telepathy allowed him to get into their heads, but the rest rode entirely on his own mental abilities. Learning how people thought and what their next moves and motives would be had nothing to do with being able to read minds. This was a suicide mission. He should even be weighing the risks and rewards. "When I die, I want a headstone. In the shape of a dragon. And not some pussy miniature dragon. I want it to be eight feet tall. Even if I'm in pieces, you better buy me a fucking dragon. And I want to be mummified. So you're gonna have to talk to some people and seriously regret the choices you're making, because that's probably gonna be a bitch."